


Step By Step

by Jellycho (Nyxokal)



Series: Paths Taken [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday Presents, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Medicine, Mutual Pining, Omnic Crisis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Science and Pseudo-Science, Slow Burn, Sparring, Team Bonding, Technology, Timelapse Fic, Timey Wimey Bullshit, Where in the world is Liao Sandiego, before Blizzard Destroys my headcanons w the novel, it's fine, serious discussions of the implications of bofa, that will eventually turn into Full Gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxokal/pseuds/Jellycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Omnic Crisis hits the world suddenly, covering it with death, bloodshed, and despair. Six months into the war between human and machine humanity makes a move, and Overwatch is formed.</p><p>It takes Gabriel Reyes, Strike Commander, and Jack Morrison, his second in command, seven years to lead their team to sweet, golden victory. Seven years of hardship and pain, yet also of hope and glory, as their unit grows from a broken puzzle into what Jack considers to be a patched up found family of sorts.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>[DISCONTINUED]</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT, 22/05/2017:**  
>  Hey everyone! I am very sorry to announce that I'll be discontinuing this particular piece. I've really been debating my decision for a long time, trying to convince myself to continue regardless, but I can no longer ignore that the attachment to this particular story is not quite the same as the one I had before. Granted, there's much more to my choice than just attachment -- such as my own happiness, my relation to the lore, and different perspectives on characters and canon events in Overwatch itself -- that have contributed to me deciding to officially declare this fic as discontinued, but just know that I'd rather finally cut the cord than keep going and produce something of lower quality than what was originally intended.
> 
> My most sincere apologies to any old and new readers who were expecting a new chapter all this time. But also, thank all of you who understand. I'll try and produce new content if at all possible; I have, after all, been quite active in writing original stuff, and I've got a few fic ideas up my sleeve as well. And they just so happen to also be Overwatch! Hopefully they'll be uploaded soon as some sort of compensation for your time.
> 
> Thank you very much.
> 
>  **TL;DR: This fic is officially discontinued, and I sincerely apologize to anyone attached to the story.**  
>  \---
> 
>  **First of all: ******I'm so overwhelmed by the positive reaction to Parental Figures that I've decided to make this story into a series, and I'm gonna do my best to see it through to the end!! (ง’̀-‘́)ง  
>  Now, I know this isn't headcanon #12, but it is still an important part of the 'verse I ended up creating on Twitter. Headcanon #12 will come, but later on!! This part here focuses a bit more on how things were before and how things went down, kinda. It was also a shameless opportunity to write cute Jack Morrison with a total crush on Gabriel Reyes and I was like, lmao I'm taking it
> 
>  **Second:** I played around w a bit of canon so that this 'verse would make sense and I... actually made my own timeline of events. I've talked about it [here](http://isanort.tumblr.com/tagged/headcanons) if you wanna read up on it, but all you need to know is that the Omnic Crisis lasts seven years, Overwatch's reign is ten years long, and I've aged a few characters up or down a Few years for things to make sense. There's also a shitload of headcanons involved so technically this is Really prone to go into Canon Divergence territory any time soon
> 
>  **Special thanks** go to Aly, Red, Sly, Megs, Zoe, and Roan on Twitter!! I love you all!! Thank you for betaing and helping me through this ride!! Also special mentions to [SiaAriel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SiaAriel/pseuds/SiaAriel) for giving me info on Jack and Ana's weapons, and [PrettyArbitrary](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary) for corrections on the military titles I'd given Jack and Gabriel. You guys rock!! I'm grateful for your help!!
> 
> BUT!!! With that out of the way, let's get this show on the road!! (´・ω・`)

Six months. That's how long it takes for everyone to realize that humanity cannot fight this threat individually and unorganized. Exactly six months of hopelessly watching Omnic forces run rampant all over the world, slaughtering hundreds, thousands, while everyone panics and sends out the biggest weapons to fight their own mistakes.

Fire fighting fire, spreading death around like a burn over healthy skin. A losing battle between human and machine, at least until now, six months into the fighting, when the United Nations announce their desire to join forces to finally put a stop to the Crisis.

Jack Morrison grits his teeth and turns on his side, trying and failing to let sleep claim him when his thoughts are as turbulent as the battles he's fought. Things are too damn quiet, too still. With each mission they participate on the Nevada base for the SEP grows emptier and emptier, confirmed casualties left and right every day in varying amounts, and the resulting silence in the facility is almost deafening.

He huffs. Jack knows the numbers, tosses and turns them in his head every time he's out there facing the enemy. Six months since the start, four months since their entry to the war, three days since the announcement. Eighty seven missions total, twenty five Jack's been in. A hundred and ten confirmed Omnic kills; thirty nine losses Jack is aware of. It's frustrating; it's too much time elapsed, too many deaths, too much damage. Too much blood spilled that could easily have been spared if the world had just given up on their _stubborn pride_ earlier.

Jack buries his face into his pillow and groans. It's 2343 hours on a Sunday. Along with the numbers in his head there's always the possibility of a mission tomorrow, the need to stay sharp and alert at all times. So Jack needs to _stop thinking_ and go to sleep, let his body rest and his mind shut down for good today _._

Right then his ears register another set of sounds, distracting him. First, the door's handle turns, then the door opens and closes with a soft click. The lights remain off. The new presence in the room walks in silent strides, cautious, in an obvious effort to not disturb Jack's supposed sleep. He can't help the snort that escapes him; would anyone believe him if he said that Gabriel Reyes, a man known for being ruthless in the battlefield and an incredibly promising leader, turned into gentle and considerate when it came to disturbing his roommate's sleep?

Probably not.

Gabriel, already in front of their shared closet, catches the sound and turns to look at Jack over his shoulder. "Jack?" he calls, amusement clear in his voice. "Man, it's almost midnight. The fuck are you doing awake, _güerito_ _?"_

Jack smile turns sheepish. He turns to lie on his back, keeps his eyes fixed on the bottom of Gabriel's bunk while the other takes his boots off, ready to change clothes. "Can't sleep," he shrugs. Then he blinks. "Hey, why did you take so long?"

Now Gabriel is the one to laugh. "What, missed me?"

"Dearly." Jack sighs, then yawns. He rubs at his eyes, trying to fight off the sudden wave of relaxation and sleepiness that's washed over him since Gabriel's entrance. This is a conversation he wants to stay awake for. "They summoned you two hours ago, Gabe. I'm just curious. Can I hear about it?"

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat, then goes silent for a moment while he dresses into night clothes. In the meantime Jack keeps his eyes open, not trusting his ability to stay awake if he dares close them, and does a mental check of every step necessary for reloading a semi automatic rifle to keep himself alert.

Put it on safe. Flip it upside-down, find the magazine, release the catch. Load cartridges — make sure they're facing the right way, because we don't want a repeat of the Peletier Incident. Set them in, then insert the magazine back into the rifle. So on and so forth. Jack's halfway through mentally pulling down the bolt when he's snapped back to reality; suddenly, a foreign weight sinks into his mattress, startling him.

Jack looks up as Gabriel takes a seat at the edge of his bed, freshly into sleep clothes, no questions asked. Okay. The blond pushes himself up to sit, tucks his legs close to his chest to give Gabriel space to make himself comfortable. Once he's settled in, Jack stretches them again, listens.

"You heard the news, right?" Gabriel says, eyes locked with Jack's, one hand rubbing at the back of his own neck. "About the UN?"

Ah. "The alliance," Jack chimes in. Gabriel nods. Suddenly and just like that, there's a dark cloud of negative thoughts and feelings hanging over Jack's head all over again, and he averts his eyes. "Yeah, I heard. I was in Washington when they broadcasted it," he says, absently picking at his dog tags and growling. "About damn time they did something."

"Well," Gabriel says, letting go of his neck to pat at Jack's calf twice. Jack knows the gesture is Gabriel for _'it's okay,'_  so he smiles. "Apparently," he continues, "they're gathering every elite soldier, medic, and scientist they can get their hands on to form an international task force against the Omnics. I just spoke with their representative; a woman named Gabrielle Adawe."

"So they're recruiting you?"

"I caught their eye, apparently." Gabriel sighs, then reaches under the bed for something. Jack rolls his eyes when the man pulls out his trusty white guitar, settling it comfortably in his arms. "My records were, quote, impeccable, unquote. So they briefed me for a while, blah blah, and then they offered to make me their unit's Strike Commander. Top shelf, Jack."

Jack tenses.

His index finger gets caught between the dog tags and he pulls, the jittery sound they make loud enough to make Gabriel's eyebrow twitch in surprise. A brown eye moves to look at Jack out of its corner, and the blond awkwardly laughs it off until it's gone, facing down again. Above, invisible to all but him, Jack Morrison's dark cloud of negativity thunders and crackles. 

For a moment, the blond feels lost between feeling happiness and emptiness. Joy, excitement, because Jack knows that Gabriel deserves this, that opportunities like these are the reason why Gabriel's always given all of himself in combat, even when he was only eighteen and participating in basic training. Has it not been Gabriel's dream to be recognized for what he's worth? Finally, all those years of excellence and efficiency have reached where they must, gotten Gabriel what he wants; a honourable, high enough position of power.

It's what he wants, Jack knows. He should, must, be supportive. And yet there's still a sense of sadness mingling with all of this, darkening the room like smoke, choking the blond until he has to swallow down a lump in his throat. He could lose this, Jack thinks. He _will_ lose this. This right here, a private guitar concert in the dark at midnight, might as well be their very last normal moment together, right before Gabriel leaves.

Underneath it all, for Jack, there's fear; surely they can keep in touch, write and call, but Jack's own experience with the concept leaves him frozen in place. What happens when Gabriel leaves on a mission and never comes back? Gabriel has been a constant in his life for the past nine years they've known each other — soon to be ten, Jack remembers, sometime down in November.

He's the last thing Jack has resembling family. How does one let go of someone who has been there with you through thick and thin, who has shared your pain, nightmares, and fear? Someone whom you have shared an entire decade of your life with, who has watched you grow in the same ways you've watched their own growth?

Someone who is home, now that no place is or can be?

Jack offers Gabriel his biggest, brightest grin. Now's not the time to be feeling all of this, so he grasps at the happiness in his heart, the part of him that's proud of Gabriel for all that he's done, and desperately clings to it like a safety rope. "Congratulations!" Jack exclaims, hoping his voice won't falter. "You deserve this, Gabriel. It's everything you ever wanted."

Gabriel hums, focus still on the guitar in his hands. His fingers move on automatic, tuning the strings to their perfect pitch, pulling and testing until they produce a satisfying enough note and his lips twitch into a grin. "Thanks, but I haven't exactly accepted it yet."

There's a pause during which Jack blinks, an action Gabriel misses when he starts strumming the first few notes of an improvised song. "You haven't?"

"Yet," Gabriel repeats, the pitch of his notes combining in a soft melody Jack doesn't recognize. "I mean, of course I'm going to," he says, "but I have one condition to fulfill before I say yes."

The song grows in tempo, repeating the first part twice with a different intonation each time before arriving to the chorus. Right then, something clicks in Jack's head; he's heard this before, just as soft, but mumbled under Gabriel's breath in low Spanish. The other man's playing, steady and calming and familiar, washes over Jack like water and leaves him relaxed once again over the fear, a hum escaping him before he even knows it.

A yawn drowns it out. Jack hides it behind his hand, waits, before saying, "You gonna tell me or what?"

Gabriel chuckles, changing the tempo to something a little more adventurous and energetic — a crescendo of notes leading somewhere promising. Jack wakes up on cue. "First I told 'em I get to pick my main team, but then they told me they already got a few people enlisted and ready," Gabriel says. He leans back a little to look Jack in the eyes, still playing. "They show me their files, and I'm like, okay. Alright. Team's fine, sure, but y'know what it's missing to make it even better?"

The man strums a final note, loud and wild, and points the head of the guitar at Jack. "Jack Morrison," he says, knocking the air out of Jack's lungs with just his own name. He strums another loud note to announce, "It's missing Jack fuckin' Morrison, 'cause if I'm going to join this then he's gonna be my second in command."

Even in the darkness of their shared room, the blond can swear he sees Gabriel's dark eyes shine with something not quite resembling mischief, but dangerously inching close to something like it. Slowly, Jack feels himself blushing. Right then every word he wants to say gets caught in the blond's throat, all fighting for an equal chance to be said, leaving him spluttering for like a complete idiot until three simple words cut through, silencing them all for good.

 _Second in command._

When Jack finally pulls through his own emotions, all he manages to do is grin like a dork and laugh. Embarrassing. Gabriel laughs along, puffy, just as he goes back to his guitar to play a new song, soft and calm. Jack hides his face with one hand. Second in command. He wants to say that he can't believe it, that the fact that Gabriel's one condition being Jack Morrison also joining surprises him, but he already knows it doesn't. 

Because, really, isn't this how it's always been? Wherever one went, the other has always followed. In all honesty, what Jack can't believe is how he didn't even think of this outcome. 

"Well, _güero_ _,"_  Gabriel says, apparently satisfied with the reaction he got, while still playing. "We got a meeting with said representative tomorrow at 1000 hours exactly to sign up for their little project. So go the fuck to sleep, now. Get your beauty rest."

"Hey. I haven't agreed to anything," Jack lowers his hand and tries protesting.

Gabriel snorts. "I choose to take you smiling like a schoolgirl as a yes," he says. He takes a moment to adjust one string for a different sound. "Or, what, are you really telling me you don't want to?"

"Of course I do," Jack immediately interjects. He yawns again, closes his eyes, and rests his head back against the wall, slides down a little onto the bed to get more comfortable. Gabriel's playing again. "We're a team, ain't we? So I'm with you. Always. Besides," he adds, slurry but smirking, "someone has to stop you from lone wolfin' your way into the battlefield at every chance you get. Who better than me to watch your six, right?"

"Not even two minutes into your new position and you're already getting rude, sassy, and yet sappy on me." Jack hears the other laugh, softly. The new song once again covers the blond with a blanket of drowsiness and calm, replacing his fears with joy and warmth at the prospect of being Gabriel's second. "I can't believe it. Don't you make me regret this, Morrison," Gabriel mockingly warns.

The world's growing quieter by the second, Gabriel's guitar pacifying Jack's mind and relaxing him, leading him to think about better things than what the war has left him. They can bring peace together like this, fight for the world's future and stop the senseless, pointless bloodshed, one victory at a time. Second in Command Morrison, right hand man to Strike Commander Reyes. With people like them at the head, Jack can only imagine what kind of team the UN are assembling. He honestly can't wait to meet them, together with Gabriel.

Jack's smirk turns gentle, sweet, his breathing comfortably evening out. He's slowly falling off the waking world and into sleep's clutches. Belatedly does the blond realize what his roommate is doing: he's successfully lulled Jack to a half-asleep state that's quickly fading into fully unconscious. "You won't," he feels more than hears himself whisper. "You won't." 

Six months since the start, four months since their entry to the war, three days since the announcement. Jack's inner war clock resets; ten minutes since the new chance to fix the world has been presented to him, two minutes since he accepted. The promise of a new dawn quite literally awaiting them both upon waking.

But for now, he can rest. Jack Morrison falls asleep at exactly 0005 hours, Gabriel's guitar fading after the rest of his conscious does. Yet right before the world dims out Jack swears he hears Gabriel's voice, gentle, saying something along the lines of "I could never, John."

* * *

It only takes ten days for everything to fall into place.

Honestly, it's record time, considering everything else going on around them. The surprise that Jack feels when UN representative Gabrielle Adawe requests their immediate presence in Switzerland is pleasant; finally, things are moving along, and much faster than what Jack had expected them to. The team is ready, she says. Jack grins, the feeling quickly making way for excitement to worm its way through him instead, curling around his heart and staying there for good.

Ten days after being recruited, Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes land in Zürich, exactly at noon. The sky is cloudy over the scene, wind picking up at random intervals to mess with Jack's hair as he steps out of the helicopter, ready explore to what's to be their new unit's headquarters. Next to him, Gabriel's black beanie protects his curly, dark hair from suffering the same fate as Jack's.

Without waiting for a greeting, order, or any sort of intervention, Gabriel is already on the move. He walks away from the helicopter with his hands behind his back, authoritative, already letting everyone know who's in charge. Jack dutifully follows after him, a smirk on his lips and a laugh caught in his throat.

The outdoor aircraft hangar is bubbling with energy: everywhere Jack looks he sees architects, engineers, and construction workers moving as one, trying to complete the rest of the already imposing structure that they quickly approach. Humanity is in the middle of a war, Jack reminds himself. And it's only been ten days, so it makes sense that these new headquarters aren't even finished yet.

Entering the building, into a hallway, all the way down until they exit into a room with a carpet and a large help desk. Above it is a symbol Jack doesn't recognize, but guesses must be the logo for whatever their group is to be. Probably noticing it as well, Gabriel huffs a short laugh by his side.

And then Jack spots her.

To their right, leaning against the wall, is a dark skinned woman with her arms crossed. She wears a cream coloured military uniform, short-sleeved, and a royal blue beret over her long, black hair. Jack finds himself staring even when she spots them, observing the way her eyes squint a little when she smiles, the tattoo under her left eye moving with her skin. It's mesmerizing. Everything about this woman, just like with Gabriel, radiates an aura of authority and power, of absolute efficiency.

Before Jack can even do anything, Gabriel is already taking control of the situation, walking over to the woman with long, strong steps. Her smile grows into a grin. "Why, hello," she calls out in an accented, strong voice. "You guys here for the party?"

Once before her, Jack replies with a grin of his own. "Why, are we late?"

"Not at all. In fact, I'd say it's just about to get started," the woman replies. She uncrosses her arms and pushes herself off the wall in one graceful movement, beckoning the two men to follow her as she steps into the open doorway to her right, into yet another hallway, dimly lit, decorated only with doors every few meters from each other. 

There's a silence coming. Jack can feel it in the air, spreading over the three of them as they walk even if the rest of the world around them is loud and energetic. And he doesn't know if it's just him or not, but it feels uncomfortable and unfriendly, the silence, even if he and Gabriel are here to talk shop and most definitely not to make friends. 

Quickly growing restless, Jack becomes consumed with the need to break the unnecessary quiet. He clears his throat, walking over to occupy the woman's left flank while Gabriel walks to her right. "Excuse me. I couldn't help but notice the insignia on your beret," Jack finds himself saying, mentally cringing at his horrid attempt at ice breaking. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that an Officer rank symbol?"

The woman's smirk is downright roguish. "You've done your homework, boy," she says, sparing him a glance. She points at her beret with her thumb. "Infantry Officer. Egyptian army."

"It's an honour," Gabriel takes over. "We're from the United States."

She hums what sounds like a soft laugh at the back of her throat. "Why, I would never have guessed." 

Jack and Gabriel exchange a look from behind her, all smirks and amusement. The woman sighs, continues from where she left off. "Well, sirs, welcome to neutral ground," she says, laughs, then adds, "Look at us all. Aren't we a long way from home?"

"I'm already getting a little homesick here," Gabriel says, sarcasm dripping from his words even as he eyes Jack out of the corner of his eye. 

He blinks once. Ah; in all honesty, Jack hadn't really thought about it, what the implications of working for the United Nations rather than one specific country would be. They'll be crossing international waters and borders on an almost daily basis now, jumping from battle to battle. And it might be a while before they get to see their own respective homelands again — Egypt for this woman, the United States for him and Gabriel.

The blond should be homesick. Jack knows he should already be feeling the pangs of guarded regret at leaving his homeland, clear and crawling down his spine like spiders, bubbling in his belly, but they just don't come. There is no hollow sensation of loss at having set foot on what's most likely to be their new base of operations, at being away from Nevada and Indiana for what's most likely to be the rest of his life in service, or any fear of the unknown at being stuck in a new environment.

Jack spares a glance at Gabriel, sees the man effortlessly keeping his cool next to the woman, unbothered. The sight is enough for Jack's train of thought to stop and quiet down, gently. He smiles. No, he's not homesick. Can't be, anyway, when he's already home.

"Oh, well," the woman sighs. They arrive to an elegant set of doors and she pauses before them, one hand over the dark wood, looking back at her two companions. "We got a job to do, sirs. Least we can do is hope the UN helps us feel at home with what they've got to offer. It should be interesting, no?"

Gabriel huffs, says, "The only way they'll make me feel at home is if they got some Bofa around to spare."

The woman's breath catches in her throat, eyes wide. She then barks out a loud cackle, bent over herself with her hand still on the doors. Gabriel is chuckling along with her, returning the large grin that Jack already sees on her face when their eyes meet, mischievous and playful. Jack feels something cold drop into his stomach at the sight; he's missing something here, isn't he?

She speaks again, the tattoo under her eye moving as her facial muscles tense and relax. "They got some, alright," she replies. "Four hundred and twenty of 'em."

"Really? I think we could make do with just sixty nine."

Jack is definitely missing something here. Nervously and meekly, the blond raises a hand, grabbing their attention. Uncomfortably he asks, "What's a Bofa?" 

Gabriel hisses, bites his lip, and looks away from Jack's confused blue eyes, one hand over his mouth. He's trembling. The woman chortles at him, sharp eyes fixed on him. She opens her mouth to say something, ready, when the door opens and throws her off balance for a moment.

"Amari?" another woman says, holding one door open and looking between all three people in front of her with surprised eyes that soon turn pleased. Jack quickly recognizes her as Gabrielle Adawe herself. "Oh, good. You've found them," she says to the tattooed woman — Amari — while opening the door further, gesturing for them to come inside. "Welcome, gentlemen. Come on in; we've no time to waste."

Amari tips her beret, smirking at Jack. "After you."

The first thing Jack notices about the room they walk into is how spacious and well-lit it is. There is a large screen hanging on the wall farthest from the entrance. Jack's eyes then land on the oval-shaped table occupying most of the space, a round crevice on the center with a device installed deep within it. Around the table, only three seats out of twenty are already occupied by the most colourful ensemble of people Jack has seen since the SEP. In front of one of them Jack sees a holographic display, the words 'SOUND ONLY' clear on the lit-up rectangle; someone couldn't make it.

Once the three of them are inside, Gabrielle closes the door behind them, softly, and Amari moves to take a seat next to a short man with a cybernetic, prosthetic red arm shaped like a claw. Jack and Gabriel take a seat, together, across from a large, muscular man with white hair. Absently, Jack wonders just how _tall_  the man must be to not even properly fit in his seat.

Gabrielle walks to the head of the table, her heels echoing loud even on the carpeted floor. She stops and stands there in front of the screen, gloved hands clasped together before her, and she smiles. "Good afternoon, and welcome," she says, bowing just a little, "to our first meeting as a global strike unit against the Omnics. I thank you all for your presence in this important moment in history."

She pauses, then, the lights dimming as the screen comes to life, displaying the familiar logo for the United Nations. "Let us begin by properly introducing each other," she says, setting a hand on her chest and another behind her back. "Most of you already know me, but allow me to introduce myself once again: I am Gabrielle Adawe, secretary-general of the United Nations, and the one who will be answering any and all of your questions during this meeting. It is a pleasure to meet all of you here."

Jack feels a wave of something nervous shoot through him when, next, her hand points at him and Gabriel. "These are Major Gabriel Reyes and Captain Jack Morrison," Gabrielle says. "Part of the first generation of soldiers trained under the American Soldier Enhancement Program, or SEP for short. They are your unit's Strike Commander and second in command, respectively."

Gabriel nods. "A pleasure," he says, making brief eye contact with everyone in the room. 

She moves to point to the holographic device sitting alone on the table. "Unfortunately unable to leave their post to meet us today," she says, "is Colonel Liao of the Chinese Army. They will be joining later, however, as part of your unit's recon team."

"Hello, everyone," a voice comes from the 'SOUND ONLY' hologram. It's broken up and covered in static, the connection probably not strong enough from wherever this Liao person is. Jack can only guess where they are isn't exactly a top-notch area for communications. "I apologize for my inability to be with you today," they say. "Still, I am looking forward to working together with all of you."

"Likewise, Colonel," Jack finds himself saying. 

Next, Gabrielle points to the tattooed woman from before. "Captain Ana Amari of the Egyptian Army," she says. Jack feels himself grinning at her, their previous familiarity kicking in and making him giddy at finally having a name for her. Ana Amari.

"Probably the best sharpshooter in the army," chimes in Amari, shrugging, leaning back on her chair. "Got sixty seven confirmed Omnic kills to my name since the war began. Really looking forward to internationally kicking ass and hopefully adding two more to that number."

Discreetly, Jack elbows Gabriel when the man almost laughs.

Gabrielle isn't impressed. She rolls her eyes, sighs, and moves on to the man with the red prosthetic. "Torbjörn Lindholm, weapons engineer for the Swedish Ironclad Guild. He's had a hand in designing most of the technology your unit will be using."

Both Gabriel and Jack jump when Torbjörn's arm hits the table. The claw circles in its place twice, the mechanical sounds accompanying the man's laugh. "Yes, yes," he says. "I've made some pretty impressive beauties before. Anyone know the TL-2KM Rifle?"

Jack perks up. "I do," he says, hand slightly raised. "It's been my designated rifle since last year. You designed it?"

"And built it, _pojke_ _,"_  Torbjörn hums. "She's a wonder, isn't she?"

Amari whistles. "How about the TL N7-93? You in on that one?"

Torbjörn strokes his beard with his hand. "Also designed and built by yours truly," he says. He spares a glance at the rest of the room, claw-hand raised, and says, "I'm most proud of the ammunition, honestly."

"Thank you, sir Lindholm," Gabrielle interrupts, voice stern. Jack curls into himself at the sheer authority in her voice, and the large man in front of him and Gabriel laughs, heartily.

Seeing how he's already attracted everyone's attention to himself, Gabrielle points at the man, sighing. "Last but not least," she says, "Sergeant First Class Reinhardt Wilhelm of the German Army, best known for his service in the battle of Brandenburg."

"Brandenburg?" Gabriel speaks up, lifting himself off his chair to sit a little straighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Gabrielle throw her hands in the air, rolling her eyes.  _"The_ Battle of Brandenburg?"

Reinhardt barks out a laugh. Jack finds the man's mirth to be contagious, a grin spreading through his own face. "And what a great, mighty battle it was!" Reinhardt bellows, setting his elbows on the table and resting his chin over his clasped hands. He shoots Gabriel a probably unnecessary intense look. "I still remember the moment of victory: there we were, my brothers in arms and I, under fire from all of our flanks. Then I, wearing my brilliant knightly armour—"

"Which I distinctly remember was the first I designed, actually," Torbjörn mutters.

"—and facing not one, but _two_  mighty beasts large enough to be dragons—"

Surprisingly, Liao's the one who speaks next: "Didn't the reports say they were T91 Tanks?"

And Reinhardt laughs again. "Two T91 Tanks, yes, large enough to be considered dragons!"

"Oh, I like this guy," Amari says between her giggles.

The large man takes his elbows off the table and crosses them, fist pumps the air. He looks off into the distance as he recounts his story, adding, "And down I took them with my mighty hammer, swing after swing until nothing more stood in my way to rescue the beautiful princess—"

"Princess?" Jack finds himself saying. The look he shares with Gabriel tells him that the other man is just as confused by this development as Jack, maybe even more. "Nobody said anything about a princess. There was a princess?"

Gabriel snorts. "Maybe he means the infected Rheda AI that was recovered from the battle?"

"Yes! Yes!" Reinhardt claps his hands together, absolutely _beaming_ at Gabriel. "The beautiful Rheda AI, the princess, held captive by the dragons and awaiting a knight's rescue!"

"Thank you, Sergeant Wilhelm," Gabrielle's voice, loud, strong, and incredibly _tired,_ interjects as soon as Reinhardt has finished his sentence. She instantly quiets Ana's laughter and Gabriel's own chuckling. There's a pop of static at the end of Liao's line, a mumbled something in Chinese that intertwines with the white noise, but other than that, the room's gone silent, finally.

The secretary-general clears her throat, hands clasped together behind her back. "Now that we have all been acquainted," she says, "I believe it is due time we cut to the chase. Shall we?"

The screen behind her flickers once, the symbol for the United Nations changing into something else, new and different. It's the logo from the previous room where Jack and Gabriel met Amari; a grey circle, the topmost part cut off and coloured yellow instead, with two points from inside pointing to the center without touching. The more Jack stares at it, the more Jack is convinced that it was probably designed to vaguely resemble a peace symbol -- which is fitting, considering what they're all here for.

At the center of the table, the device _whirrs_ to life, projecting a holographic representation of the Earth. The faint light coming from it illuminates the room, giving it an eerie aura. "Honourable guests," Gabrielle says, gesturing. "For half a year now, our people have struggled and suffered at the front of this worldwide danger that seeks to eliminate humanity. The blood spilled and sacrifices made have led our countries to the brink of despair, threatening with destroying us as we stand; alone and divided."

The hologram of Earth rotates slowly. As Gabrielle's words come to an end, the countries respective to each person present light up, displaying information and video footage of previous battles and victories. "And yet there are those," she continues, "who stand tall and proud, whose bravery and sense of justice, their courage, have inspired and instilled hope in the hearts of many." Gabrielle pauses for a second, smiling. "We speak, of course, of you."

The woman raises her eyes, her hands, and gestures towards the device on the table just as the holographic Earth flickers off into another shape; into the logotype on the screen behind her, large and imposing, casting its peaceful blue light over everyone else's faces. Jack keeps his eyes on the slowly rotating symbol, Gabrielle's next words washing over him, slowly, as she says them. "Honourable guests," she says, softly. "Please, help us fight back and bring peace back to our world. Help us, and take part of Project Overwatch."

* * *

"First thing I'm doing is changing the goddamn name," Gabriel says. He sets the lit cigarette between his lips and inhales, loudly, his chest rising in an absolutely unnecessary manner with the action. The man huffs the smoke out of his lungs after a short pause, the last bits of it tangling with his chuckle, clinging to his lips a moment longer even as he continues. "The fuck kinda name is 'Project Overwatch,' anyway? Sounds too lame for something I'm supposed to be leading."

Jack laughs. "I don't think you'll get to rename it, Gabe."

On the first break from the meeting, an hour after being introduced to the rest of their team, Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes find themselves standing together in an open area that Jack guesses will one day turn into a balcony.

The blond has his arms crossed over his chest, resting against the wall closest to the opened door, discreetly observing the smoke rise up from Gabriel's mouth. He sighs, tilts his head back against the wall.Jack's lips curve into a smirk when he hears Gabriel growling at his answer, the distinct sound of him inhaling back more smoke registering before his words do.

Gabriel huffs again. "Yeah, well, they should let me," he says, vaguely gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette. "I'm their new Strike Commander. Shouldn't I get to name my unit whatever I want?"

Jack, chuckling, pushes himself off the wall and walks over to Gabriel, reaching for Gabriel's arm. "If you're going to be Strike Commander, the public face of Project Overwatch," he says, shoving down his hand, smirk intensifying when Gabriel raises both eyebrows at him, "I think you'll have to quit that. Just for PR?"

"John Morrison, when did you resign from being my second in command to become my PR manager?"

"Don't be like that," Jack says, lightly slapping at the man's arm in mock warning. There is a grin on his face, bright and childish, the type that only happens whenever Gabriel calls him by his real name when they're in private, and Gabriel winks at him with a smirk of his own. Then the man actually drops the cigarette and steps on it. Good. "I just want you to look good in the posters," Jack continues after the pause.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. _"Carnal,_ if anyone's got their PR on point, it's that Wilhelm guy," he states, shaking his head with a smirk. "Even if he believes the T91 Tanks were dragons and the Rheda AI was a princess. That's just charming as hell, really. So pure."

"Are you really calling a man in his forties 'pure'?"

"Like there's much of an age difference. He's only ten years older than me," Gabriel shrugs.

The blond nods. He takes his gaze off Gabriel to look over to the horizon, past the rubble of the base's building work, where his eyes meet the nature settled far too away for either of them to visit. He can see the trees mashed together, a forest, surrounding what appears to be a small lake that glistens in the early afternoon daylight.

It's the perfect postcard picture, peaceful and serene. Were it not for the constant noise of the construction and the loud, distant shouting of the workers, Jack could close his eyes and pretend, for a moment, that there is no war for humanity's future going on. That they haven't just come out of a meeting discussing the formation of a strike unit with Jack and Gabriel at the head, that they weren't just given an alarming amount of statistics and facts on why this is the best course of action.

Jack's mind wanders, again, counting numbers and events. Adawe's voice echoes in his head, telling them of the hundred and six thousand worldwide deaths since the beginning of the war, total, without counting those that have died without anyone even knowing, or the bodies never found in places too far out of reach. There's a shudder that boils from the bottom of Jack's spine, then, crawling up and spreading over his shoulders to shake him to the bone just as frustration punches him in the gut. So much death in only six months; so much loss. 

So much time wasted.

Gabriel moves, disturbs Jack's train of thought, snaps him out of repeating the same numbers again and again, out of thinking himself back into yet another bad mood. He's dragging a hand down his face, hiding what's most likely a bored yawn that Jack only catches the end of, before he brings his right arm up to his face and takes a quick look at his wristwatch. Jack snorts; only a man like Gabriel would keep such an old piece of tech and call it 'ironic fashion.'

A hum. "Ten minutes left before we have to go back in there," Gabriel sighs, crossing his arms again. "Sure can't wait to listen to more boring reports and debriefings on how this unit's gong to work."

"Come on, it's only one more hour," Jack replies, smile shy as he tries hard to dismiss the previous bout of frustration and go back to helping Gabriel out of his own. "And we get to hear more about our new comrades next half. Gabrielle said something about positions and responsibilities."

"Can't wait to hear Lindholm talk about how he designed my shotguns next, then," Gabriel huffs. Jack is perhaps a little too amused at how there's something closely resembling a pout in his voice. "What a bunch of weirdos. Like," he says, raising a hand and sticking out fingers as he counts. "We got a warrior who thinks he's fighting mythical creatures, a sharpshooter who laughed at Bofa and the number sixty nine, an engineer who claims to have built and designed everything he sets his sights on, someone we've only spoken to over a comm, and us both. I feel like we're the new cast for a reality TV show, not a war unit."

Jack shrugs. He can't help it when Gabriel's yawn jumps and latches onto him as well. "They just need someone to lead them. You can make it work, Gabriel."

"We," Gabriel interjects. He looks over at Jack with a raised eyebrow, looking as if he were offended by something, pointing between the two of them. _"We_ can make it work. Stop forgetting I made you second in command, John."

The easy smile on Jack's face quickly turns sheepish. He looks away from Gabriel, covers his mouth with his hand in a subconscious attempt to try and shield himself and his bashfulness. He can pretend it's to hide a yawn, anyway. No matter how much he hears Gabrielle Adawe, or the man standing next to him say it, Jack Morrison still hasn't gotten used to being referred to as Gabriel Reyes' second in command. There's a feeling at the pit of his stomach, warm and fuzzy, that Jack is a little too slow in identifying as the type of giddy joy he hasn't felt since he was a freckled boy in Indiana.

Jack takes his hand away from his mouth, nods. "Right," he says, eyes still on the ground. "We'll make it work."

Silence spreads, then, comfortable and easy. Slowly, Jack takes his eyes off the floor to look back up at the scenery before them. He takes its beauty in again, as much as he can before their ten minutes are done and they have to return to the meeting, scanning the horizon as he lets go of grim numbers and statistics to focus instead on the warm feeling of joy, the pride, and Gabriel's relaxed presence close by. _We can make it work,_ the words echo in his head.Jack huffs a quiet laugh; what a sight to behold they must be, a Major and a Captain, suddenly equals at the head of a unit under the name of Project Overwatch.

Sighing, Jack takes his gaze off the view before them, turns his head back to find Gabriel's rich brown eyes instantly locking with his bright blue ones.

He smiles, and Jack quickly returns the gesture. Clear as day in Gabriel's expression, for Jack only, there's trust. Because Jack Morrison knows Gabriel Reyes well enough to recognize the smallest intonations of his voice, the implied meanings of the words he chooses, the hidden messages coded in his expressions and body language that he knows only Jack will be able to decipher. They're all reasons why they've worked so well together through the years, and they both know it — it's ten years of camaraderie and friendship, teamwork, culminating in this. 

They can make it work. They must make it work.

Jack breaks eye contact first, looks off into the distance when he feels a sudden warmth spread on his face. It's a blush, he knows it. The blond mentally curses at himself, stammering, tripping over his own words until he clears his throat. "Overwatch," Jack ends up saying. "How... How does just 'Overwatch' sound to you?"

Beside him, Jack hears Gabriel hum, the sound deep and rumbling and pleased. "Better," Gabriel mumbles. "Much better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how Overwatch was born
> 
>  **Some facts & things!**  
> 1\. All the ranks (except for Ana's) added to each character were previously discussed w my brother (a fan of military stuff) and my irl friend whom I'll refer to as "Trick" (who knows military stuff too and coached me thru this). Gun models and whatever else were also either made up or picked up from real things. Pls tell me if you see any mistakes or whatever else!! Army things aren't rly my forte haha. They're prone to change as we get more canon info, too  
> 2\. Ana Amari's rank was added in upon realizing that [her beret](https://twitter.com/strkecommander/status/751497129940492288) is an Egyptian Infantry Officer's beret  
> 3\. Also on Ana Amari, I'm basing her sniper career off two historical female snipers: WW2 [Senior Sergeant Roza Shanina](http://rarehistoricalphotos.com/smart-beautiful-deadly-19-year-old-russian-sniper-roza-shanina-54-confirmed-kills/), with a kill count of 59, and WW2 [Major Lyudmila Pavlichenko](http://www.businessinsider.com/lyudmila-pavlichenko-female-sniper), with a kill count of 309, 36 of which were German snipers  
> 4\. Liao being 'SOUND ONLY' is two things: A) A reference to Evangelion, and B) An excuse bc I didn't know what to do with their character bc we don't know anything abt them. As such, I am also choosing to keep their pronouns strictly genderless


	2. Deals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for being a slow writer I am an IT intern and also only an eel
> 
>  **Special Thanks** this chapter go to Aly, Red, and Megs for betaing and making me lauhg with their comments on the Doc!! Also to @captainothehunt on Twitter for cheering me on and on no matter what, and @Nifflehime for being amazing and inspiring me with our convos. And shoutout to @tododekus for giving me one of Jack's lines about Winston!! You guys rock  <3

Fifty seven minutes into the meeting. Gabrielle Adawe's voice powerfully bounces in the meeting room, the statistics on the holographic screen shifting as she speaks, fast, explaining each and every graph and number. Something about firepower, strategic points, about the last thirty-seven official Overwatch missions they've all taken part of in the past three months since formation. Maybe even something about Torbjörn and his tech.

Jack, putting up the greatest effort to listen intently, discreetly shifts his weight on his chair, keeps his hands clasped on the table, forearms resting on it but elbows never touching it. It's his own way of being polite.

For some reason, he'd expected something a little bit different. Then again, just like Gabriel said, he's been very good at forgetting he's second in command and this stuff is usually what comes with the package.

 _Second in command,_ Jack thinks with a wobbly smile.

But, still. It's not too bad, and it's not like he's disappointed. They've done an amazing job as a unit so far, after all, with a steadily rising Omnic kill count and the global casualty number per mission dropping quickly. More and more recruits are taken into the unit, people inspired by the soldiers clad in blue, driving away rogue machines and incapacitating them until things are back under control.

Jack Morrison is only half aware of his leg bouncing impatiently. His eyes are fully focused on Adawe again, snapping back and forth from the screen's info to her as it changes and demands his attention. Now she's talking about said recruits, giving names and ages and countries of origin. There's people of all kinds; soldiers, most of all, scientists and doctors, all with years of training and attractive achievements to their names, but what stands out the most are a few oddities here and there; people that quickly catch Jack's eye as soon as he sees them.

A college student from The Netherlands who single-handedly deactivated a rogue Omnic by herself, all to protect her sister's children, and then enlisted for Overwatch's engineering branch as soon as she was able. A sixty-seven year old retired doctor who kept thirteen injured soldiers alive in Portugal until help could arrive, then enlisted for the medical branch, wanting to keep healing. A group of five vacationing friends caught in an Omnic wave in Panama, who joined in the fight and helped keep it clean and contained until Overwatch took control, then all enlisted together for differing programs at the same time.

And that's not even all of them, if the sheer amount of files sent to his and Gabriel's inbox is anything to go by. Dozens, hundreds of valiant people taking a stand against the Omnics, defending their land and those they love, finding the power and reach within Overwatch to help make a change in the world and joining. Becoming the hope that they want to see, spreading it all around the globe like sunlight, fighting off the darkness of hopelessness and despair.

Jack's heart flutters twice. Once with pride for the world, for humanity's resilience, and another for the Strike Commander sitting to his right; their leader, the man who's helped make this possible.

Who'd definitely look good in posters. Even while smoking.

Before he can continue to hide further into his mind to marvel at the kinds of things Gabriel and Overwatch have already accomplished in just three months, Adawe claps her hands together before her, loudly, and startles him back to focus. Jack gulps. Right, meeting. The meeting that is going on right now, right here in the room where Overwatch's founders first met, with Adawe debriefing him and Gabriel about everything that's happened in the last month.

Gabriel, and his stupid smirk that Jack catches out of the corner of his eye.

Jack discreetly sticks out the tip of his tongue.

"There are only two things left to discuss before we can conclude the October briefing," Adawe is saying, tucking a stray brown hair behind her ear. "First, let us talk about Doctor Ziegler and her response to our petition for her to join us." She huffs, then, setting her eyes on Gabriel. "Commander Reyes?"

The Commander nods. He's been using his foot to push his chair left and right, rocking it, while tapping his right hand's fingers on the table. _Tap, tap, tap._ Though not resembling a melody, the sound is paused and rhythmical, calculated, symmetrical in its tempo and pattern, and it's become a comfortable constant for Jack. When Gabriel suddenly stops it to speak, Jack finds the silence it leaves behind eerie.

"I spoke to Doctor Ziegler myself last week," Gabriel says. "She's had the time to consider the invitation and will be coming next week to discuss the terms of agreement. She also wants to see the facility."

"A guided tour? That we can do. Did she give you a date of her arrival?" Adawe inquires.

"November tenth, exactly. So, five days from now." Gabriel shoves his chair a little closer to Jack, all for the sole purpose of setting a hand on the blond's shoulder, patting him roughly. "Since it's already been settled that I'm gonna be in Chile for that date, Morrison will be in charge of that meeting and of showing her around. We've already discussed this."

When they land on Jack, he can see the restrained doubt in Adawe's eyes, the way her lips purse into a line ever so slightly. Obvious signs of inner conflict, gone the next second almost as quickly as they came, replaced by what's become Adawe's trademark stubborn confidence. Jack doesn't blame her one bit. "Very well," Adawe says, sighing, typing something into a tablet set on the table. "I'll schedule that in, then. Anything else?"

Jack speaks up next, ready and desperate to include himself. He's second in command and he should be doing better than spacing out and being quiet in the middle of monthly briefings. "We should expect at least a team of five doctors to arrive with her," he says. "Maybe ten. She didn't specify, but we should make accommodations for at least ten. Just in case."

"Right." Adawe picks up the tablet, her typing speeding up. Meanwhile, Gabriel takes his hand off Jack's shoulder to go back to tapping on the table. "Perhaps we should assign them to the unoccupied western dorms near the medical bay, for easy access. I will reserve ten rooms." She briefly makes eye contact with Jack before looking back down to the tablet. "Just in case."

"Seems reasonable," Gabriel shrugs.

She nods. With a sound coming from the tablet, the secretary-general hums, swipes the screen, and promptly finishes what she's doing. The tablet is lowered, resting on her forearm. Adawe looks up to meet the two men's gazes once again, something that reads like eagerness blooming all over her features. "Now," she straightens herself as she speaks, "on the subject of the special recruitment case from last month..."

Jack perks up, "Are they finally joining our ranks?"

The woman swipes at the tablet again, the screen behind her lighting up to show the Overwatch logo, the device in the middle of the table booting up to show an opened file on it; another profile about someone named Winston. Just Winston. Immediately after reading the name, Jack's eyes find themselves glued to the accompanying clear photograph of their new recruit, and his jaw drops.

_No way. There is no way._

What is this? Jack wants to say something, question the woman, maybe protest, but every time he opens his mouth his voice comes out in short, small squeaks instead. There's a grin tugging at his lips. Oh, man. Somewhere at the pit of his stomach, Jack feels something bubble up and rise in his throat, getting caught there, that he recognizes as the warning hisses of laughter.

Adawe's looking at him with a raised eyebrow, almost as if she were daring him to let it out. Jack risks a glance at Gabriel and almost bursts out laughing when the man asks, deadpan, "Is that a goddamn monkey."

"A gorilla, actually," Adawe sighs, voice fluctuating between tranquil professionalism, amusement, and what Jack chooses to interpret as exasperation. Gabriel scoffs, hands raised to his sides in an expression of _'are you fucking kidding me'_ while Jack hides his grin behind his fist.

Ignoring them, Adawe continues: "After much debate, the United Nations have agreed to give Overwatch full custody of Winston. As such, he will be visiting the headquarters as well. To discuss him joining the science branch. I will be sending a memo when the exact date is decided upon."

"A monkey," Gabriel repeats. "You're recruiting a monkey."

Jack clears his throat. "Gorilla."

"I don't care, Morrison! That's still a fucking monkey!"

"Commander Reyes," Adawe booms, scowling, and Jack fights the urge to burst out laughing. Then the man sees Gabriel downright pouting and can't help but to snort, earning Jack an invitation into receiving the same stern look Adawe's giving Gabriel. Jack shrugs, curling into himself while he bites his lower lip to stop himself from cackling. What the hell are they, children?

The woman huffs. "I will have you know," she begins, "that Winston is one of the few gorillas that were raised on the Horizon Lunar Colony, and he engineered his return back to Earth on his own, using what he had around him. He is a precious asset to Overwatch and shall be treated with respect."

Gabriel deflates and sits back on his chair. A hand flies to his forehead, messing up the perpetual black beanie and showing bits of his curly hair. "We're recruiting a rebellious, genetically engineered space monkey to the science branch."

"Gorilla," Jack repeats, a giggle mixing with his voice. "Monkeys have tails."

The glare that Gabriel shoots him could freeze anyone else in their tracks, practically stop their hearts with just the malice in his eyes, but all it does to Jack is hush him, make him shrug in his own defense. He's been on the receiving end of such a look many times before, and with practice, has grown immune — a fact that Jack knows frustrates Gabriel to no end.

Once again ignoring them, Adawe rolls her eyes. She taps twice onto her tablet until another sound pops in and she hums in satisfaction. "There," she says. "I've sent you both Winston's files, both the Lunar Colony file and the UN file, for reviewing. Do not forget that this is classified information, sirs. Now, with every point touched upon and settled, let us conclude this meeting and return to our posts."

She doesn't wait for them; she deactivates both screens and directs herself to open the door. Jack and Gabriel take it as their cue to get up and get out — four meetings with Adawe since August have been enough for them to settle into an easy to understand routine, and they know when it is that the woman wants them to leave.

Jack spares her a look. _I don't want to deal with a discussion on gorillas and monkeys right now,_ Adawe's words and body language are saying. Or at least that's what Jack thinks they're saying. Whatever it is, once again today, Jack finds that he can't blame her.

Because, really. Jack turns to look at his Commander. The man is painting his earlier glare over with an amused half-smile instead, directed at his second in command. Gabriel Reyes makes Jack Morrison feel like a high schooler ready to get in trouble, even in situations where they must remain professional like today. If Jack had to deal with both himself and Gabriel like this, Jack would give up, too, just up and leave.

He snorts.

Adawe turns to look at both men, door held open. She allows herself a smile, and Jack returns it immediately, bright, happy to see the expression on her. She looks great when she's smiling. "I thank you for taking the time off your schedules to grant me your presence today. As always, it has been a pleasure. Morrison," she nods at Jack, then Gabriel. "Reyes."

"The pleasure's all ours," Jack expresses, smile sweet and bright.

Suddenly, Gabriel grabs him by the arm. Jack yelps as the man drags him out through the door. "We'll be seeing you next month, then," Gabriel says, offering a court nod to the woman. "Now please excuse us, Adawe. We've got business to attend to."

"I understand completely. Take care, Commander," Adawe closes the door and walks away

Gabriel Reyes walks opposite of her, still dragging Jack down the hallway, though gentler this time. They turn a corner and almost bump into an officer walking by. Jack finds himself absentmindedly rubbing at his arm when Gabriel finally lets him go, ten steps away and walking in the general direction to the newly-installed elevator leading upstairs. The man is probably on his way to what has been assigned as Gabriel's office.

Oh. Gabriel probably wants to get any paperwork and file reviewing done as soon as possible. If he's to be of any use to the man then Jack should be on his way to check up on Intel and recon; Liao and their team did return to base earlier today, after all, and Jack could, should, take that responsibility off Gabriel's shoulders by doing it himself.

His commander is mumbling something under his breath, still walking, all the way until he finally scoffs out loud. Jack's attention is on him in an instant. "A monkey," Gabriel huffs, mild disgust decorating his tone. He looks back at Jack with his hands up in the air and a confounded expression — a silent plea for a coherent answer. "What the hell are we going to do with a goddamn space monkey?"

Jack shrugs, keeping up with him. He nods to another two officers walking by before he speaks. "Gorilla," he dares repeat again, finally allowing himself to laugh when Gabriel's glare returns full-force. "What? I just want you to use the correct terminology."

 _"Fine,"_ Gabriel growls out the word. Jack bites back a triumphant grin. "What the hell are we going to do with a space _gorilla?"_

"I'm pretty sure Adawe said we're to give him to the science branch as soon as he's here."

"That is not what I meant, Morrison. What I meant to say was, 'what the fuck can a space gorilla do for us'?"

They arrive to the elevator a little too soon for Jack's liking. Gabriel presses a button to calls it down, and in their wait Jack remembers the weight in his pocket from earlier in the meeting. He digs his hands into his pockets until he fishes it out, hiding it behind his back, and the grin that spreads on his face seems to catch Gabriel by surprise.

First, he has to excuse himself. So the grin turns apologetic and right away Gabriel's own expression falters. "We can worry about that later," Jack says. The elevator opens with a ping and he points to it with his chin. "You go on ahead, Commander. I'm gonna go check up on Liao's recon team."

Gabriel snorts, waiting until the elevator empties before walking in. "Aw. You're not coming for the paperwork party, then?"

"I'm being a good second in command and taking care of your other responsibilities before you have to leave for Chile tomorrow." Jack tries to ignore the pang of disappointment and sadness at the thought of having only spent four days near the man since his return from his own mission, but he quickly pushes it down.

Considering how busy they've been, he should be thankful he even got this moment.

"And in case I don't get to see you again today," Jack says instead, pulling his hands out from behind his back and throwing what he's holding at Gabriel. "Here you go."

Catching it with only one hand is no difficult task for Gabriel's enhanced reflexes. Jack watches, satisfied, as Gabriel brings the object up to his eye-level for examination, then beams at the way his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, the way the corners of his lips tug upwards until he's grinning. An actually delighted, carefree grin that has Jack sighing and relaxing — he hasn't seen one in a while, even when they did manage to snag a few minutes together between missions and meetings.

"Holy shit, Morrison," Gabriel breathes, holding the small sugar skull in both hands now, turning it around to admire the details drawn into it with the colourful, hardened orange and yellow candy. Eyebrows and teeth, they make, with a few other features added in just to be pleasantly aesthetic. It's covered in plastic for protection, the material shining in the light along with the beads decorating the eyes.

Absently, Jack imagines Gabriel biting into it. He catches the cringe that threatens to come out of that.

Gabriel's runs his thumb on top of the name tag pasted on the forehead and snorts, looking back up to meet Jack's gaze, smirking crookedly. "Is this what you were doing during your mission in Mexico?" he asks, waving the skull in the air twice before setting it down to go back to looking at it. "Can't believe it. It even has my name."

And Jack shrugs. "Happy belated birthday?"

Gabriel laughs. "You outdid yourself. It's so fucking fitting," he mumbles the last bit. "November second. _Feliz Día de Muertos y feliz cumpleaños."_

The blond almost jumps in excitement when he actually understands everything Gabriel's just said. Happy Day of the Dead, happy birthday. Basic Spanish mixed with words Gabriel's repeated multiple times before. Jack goes the extra mile and tries to echo them back at him, says, _"Feliz cumpleaños."_

"Oh my god, your pronunciation is still awful. Never speak Spanish again," the Commander rolls his eyes, giggling.

Jack sets a hand on his chest and pouts in mock-hurt, to which Gabriel rolls his eyes. His Commander pockets the skull into his coat, raises his eyes to look at Jack, gives him a sincere, unguarded smile, and.

And the world stops. Dims.

Suddenly, Jack is breathless. He feels as if he's just been punched in the gut with enough strength to send him flying through the air, stomach flipping. Something clicks right then, perfect, but Jack can't tell what it is exactly, and he blinks. It tugs at his heart and knocks on his brain — an idea, a realization, wanting nothing but for Jack to let it in. Accompanying it is an aura that blankets the scene, engulfing them both in a unique moment available exclusively for them; for Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes only, rest of the world be damned.

The blond draws in a breath and holds it for one second too long, releases it with a shaky quirk of his lips into a smile. He feels them resting at the tip of his tongue, three words, a feeling hiding in the back of his eyelids, ready for the Jack to focus and take it, inject it into his veins to travel all over to his very core.

And then Gabriel breaks the moment, shatters it even though his voice and face are gentle, and the feeling escapes Jack like water falling through his fingers.

Gabriel clears his throat and averts his eyes. "Anyway... Thanks, Jack," he laughs, pressing a button on the panel. "Gotta run. Come by later so we can properly celebrate, or whatever."

More smiling, tighter and less enthusiastic. Jack shrugs off the feeling that lingers still, stinging like alcohol in his throat. "I'll try to be there," he says just as the elevator closes and rises.

He misses the expression that flashes on Gabriel's face. With a sigh Jack walks away, surprised when his own shoulders sag in disappointment as he goes.

* * *

He's in the cafeteria at three in the afternoon, standing in front of Ana and Reinhardt's table with his hands behind his back, asking about Liao and their mission. The room is noisy and even more crowded than it ever was when Overwatch first formed, a line near the counters bubbling with energy as new and old recruits chat together, picking their food. Ana and Reinhardt's own plates are already halfway eaten through, with Ana's closer to empty than Reinhardt's own.

Turns out Liao has already left before Jack even got out of the meeting room.

"Something about another emergency recon mission," Ana says, biting onto a piece of whatever-the-hell-that-is that crunches pleasantly under her teeth. She takes a moment to chew and swallow, one finger raised so no one interrupts her before she continues. "Said, 'Tell Commander Reyes I left a report on his desk this morning,' though."

So Gabriel will be taking care of that anyway. Slowly, Jack deflates. "Any idea when they're coming back?"

"Wish I knew, too. But they've gone off to Moscow, so that makes calculating a return difficult." Ana sighs. "You know how it is over there."

As she speaks, Reinhardt, sitting across from Ana, stabs his fork into his plate and scoops up a bunch of mashed potatoes with a laugh. He brings the fork up to his eye-level to stare intently at the potatoes, and Jack smiles; half nervous, half amused. "How valiant of them!" Reinhardt exclaims, raising his fork. "They didn't even hesitate to jump to a new mission as soon as they returned from their last one!"

"Damn right!" Ana bubbles, also stabbing at her food and raising it for what Jack assumes must be emphasis. She and Reinhardt make eye contact and nod at each other, then look over to Jack. The blond wrings his hands together behind his back. "Liao's pretty cool, Morrison," she says, smiling. "I heard they got recruited because they could last several months out there doing recon all by themselves. Not to mention they kick a lot of ass, too."

Jack finds himself laughing. "I thought it was because of their exceptional leading skills and efficiency in battle."

"But that is totally what I said," the woman maintains. She scoops up some cut up vegetables onto a piece of bread, reaches for her glass of water and holds onto it until she's done chewing again. Ana smirks, voice amused and mingling with laughter at the back of her throat. "The point here is," she continues, "Liao's out there again. At least they reported in to Reyes."

"At least," Jack agrees. His voice is almost a whine. Without even thinking about it, Jack sighs, crosses his arms, and takes a seat next to Reinhardt. He misses the way the man smiles radiantly down at him, looking up later to see him already engaged in conversation with Ana again. He was supposed to take care of that report, supposed to chip down Gabriel's responsibilities to let the man breathe and relax.

What's Jack supposed to do now, then?

A recent memory creeps up into his mind, explodes in a flash, and he blinks. "Excuse me— Hey, Wilhelm?" Jack asks the man, earning a short sound of acknowledgement as he eats. Jack smiles. "Sorry. I wanted to thank you, again, for your help in Mexico. Mission success, Sergeant."

If it was possible for Reinhardt to brighten up even more than he usually already is, Jack finds out today. The man belts out a laugh and pats Jack on the back, roughly, and Jack almost ends up sprawled on the table with the sheer force behind the action. "Any time, Morrison," Reinhardt says, chortling. He offers Jack to take something from his plate, but the second in command politely refuses. Reinhardt's smile never leaves his face. "It was my pleasure."

"Did you guys go on an adventure in Mexico and didn’t invite me?" Jack hears Ana say.

Reinhardt sets his fork down and gently bows his head at her. "Let's go together sometime, Ana. You will love it!"

Ana, chewing, pats at the man's large arm with her gloved hand. "I'm sure I will, big guy," she agrees. "It's a deal, then. In the meantime, though, I think I want to have a look at more of the spicy and sugary souvenirs you brought back."

Jack and Reinhardt's laughs, one loud and the other reserved, tangle together and make one chorus of sounds that eventually has Ana laughing along. Jack sets his forearms on the table and joins his hands together, allowing himself to relax. It's so strange to see Reinhardt Wilhelm and Ana Amari like this already — on a first name basis three months in, barely having shared many missions — but it's not unpleasant in the slightest. Instead, it feels... natural.

The blond watches as Reinhardt empties his pockets to reveal several small plastic packages containing red, round candy inside, watches as Ana giddily picks three for herself while drinking water. Is this hanging out? They are soldiers, all three of them, approaching their forties in Jack's case, fifties in the other two's, always ready to go should they be needed in a mission somewhere across the sea. Can this even be called hanging out, with that threat behind them?

Well, why the hell not?

Ana, already done with her food, opens one of the candy and flicks it up in the air. It lands in her mouth in a perfect catch. She raises her arms, triumphant, as Reinhardt cheers, raising his glass as if to toast in her name. Jack's hand twitches, wanting to join in, but he controls himself and crosses his arms instead.

"Say," he begins, earning the two's attention. "I only now realize I haven't asked you guys directly, but how were you two recruited?" He looks between Ana and Reinhardt in short intervals before he adds, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"Not at all, Morrison," Ana is the first to speak. She offers Jack one of her candy, sincerely, and he almost cringes when he refuses; he already has tasted these and is not having a repeat of that. Ana shrugs, smiling, making direct eye contact with Jack as she explains. "For me it was typical. I was recruited after a mission in Tanta landed me the front cover of the newspaper for saving my whole team. Have you ever seen 'Lord of the Rings'?"

Jack is thrown off guard for a moment. "Yeah? Just once, though."

She nods. "Well, there's a scene with one of the giant elephant creature thingies where an archer climbs it and kills it with several arrows to the everything." Ana takes a moment to switch her candy from her left cheek to her right, shrugs. "Now, it wasn't _exactly_ like that, of course, but I did climb a giant turret-like bipedal Omnic and threw a grenade into it before jumping off. So there's that."

Jack snorts out a laugh into his fist. "Now next time I watch that scene I will be thinking of you."

"Ah, I am honoured!" Ana clasps her hands together and bows dramatically.

Reinhardt finishes eating while the two of them laugh, reaching for his glass and downing the rest of the liquid in one go. It's comically small in his large hands, and Jack makes a mental note of getting him something he can hold onto better, more comfortably, as thanks for his help in Mexico.

The blond makes eye contact with him, waiting for a story to unfold. All Reinhardt does is grin and nod, pick up one of the candy still on the table, say, "You've already heard my story, Sir! My service during the Battle of Brandenburg is what landed me a ticket here."

Being addressed as a higher-up makes Jack warm immediately. "I would still love to hear the whole story, Sergeant. If it's alright with you."

"I'd be delighted to tell you!" the man bellows. Reinhardt is, in every way, like a ray of sunshine — bright, warm, excited, good for the soul. Jack is finally understanding just why it was that Gabriel called the man 'pure' three months ago. "But first," Reinhardt says, once again almost patting Jack flat on the table, giving him a half-hug of boastful camaraderie, "you should also share the story of your own recruitment with us, Morrison!"

The previous warmth turns into an overpowering heat.

He splutters for a moment. On instinct, Jack reaches forward for one of the candy on the table, eager and desperate to get his hands busy on something — he struggles with the wrapping, taking longer on it on purpose, mouth twitching as he tries to come up with something good to say. Because he can't just say, _'Reyes made a deal to join only if I was recruited as well and told me while practically serenading me to sleep.'_

No, no. Just no.

The wrapping finally comes undone and Jack clears his throat. He shoves the candy into his mouth and prays to god he's gotten better at handling spicy things, ignores the way the other two agents are looking at him. "Reyes recommended me," he settles for saying. "We joined together."

"That's so not enough info," Ana says. "Which mission caught their eye?"

"W-Washington," Jack blurts out with a little lisp. Shit— his tongue is starting to tingle. "There was a sudden wave and I was dispatched there with another two teams. I took the lead and coordinated both defense and attack forces." Jack swallows hard, inhales through his nose. "That's about it."

There's now a sting in Jack's eyes that he curses with all his might, blinks away. He ends up averting his gaze down to the table, sucking in some air to help with the horrid feeling of his mouth _burning._ Reinhard's friendly grip on his shoulder has turned concerned, accompanied by the man asking him if he's alright, and all Jack does is whine in response. Actually whine.

Oh, god.

He lifts his eyes back up and meets Ana's dark stare just as the first tear falls. Immediately, Reinhardt gets up and runs off, screaming something about milk. Jack is left alone with Ana Amari and her smug, amused smile, holding eye contact even as she goes ahead and reaches for another candy.

Jack is sure he'd gape at her if it weren't for a sudden flare of _hot_ down his throat that forces him to shut his eyes tight.

"Here, you can have this," he hears the woman laugh over the sound of something gently being set on the table.

The blond cracks open one eye, sees her empty plate and half-full glass, and hears angels sing; he reaches for the plate and spits out the candy, downs the glass' liquid into his mouth. Ana is still laughing — a sound less gentle and more amused now that Jack's not in danger of passing out due to the candy being too much to handle.

She's patting at his forearm when he sets the glass down, empty. Jack puffs out some air, wipes at his eyes. "Why does this candy have to be so... _spicy?"_ Jack says, panting, just as Reinhardt returns with a new glass full of milk that he quickly hands over. "It doesn't even make any sense! Candy is supposed to be sweet!"

Ana's laughing again, and Jack feels ridiculous. He knew this was going to happen. He just knew. Jack's already lived through this maybe a little too many times to his liking, back during his earlier days with Gabriel when the man wanted to get Jack to try new things, mostly candy like this. And always, without fail, each time he tried something new Jack always ended up in the same way — bothered, in tears, and with a cackling Gabriel calling him a hopeless white boy in the background.

Without missing a beat, Jack grabs the glass of milk and downs it with big gulps. Jack is thinking about excusing himself to go check up on Doctor Ziegler's arrival in five days, but then he hears Ana cheering him on and almost chokes, a laugh battling to escape his mouth that he catches last minute, releasing it only when he's set the glass down and swallowed properly. To his left Reinhardt's own joins in with the two's laughter, just as he picks one of the candy for himself and eats it _'in his friend's honour.’_

Friend.

Jack grins, a giddy warmth of belonging spreading through his chest, and decides that Ziegler's case can still wait a little longer.

* * *

Morrison doesn't dread November tenth, even if he is to be on his own through the few days that follow the date, acting as leader while Gabriel is away.

Because there is nothing to dread or be afraid of, anyway. Regardless of Gabriel's presence or not, Doctor Ziegler's arrival has been accounted for and planned accordingly with five days in advance, all to properly receive her and her peers and make everything easier for both herself and Overwatch as a whole.

Everything about Ziegler's visit has been coolly calculated, and it's mostly Gabrielle Adawe's doing. Jack is halfway through thanking god for Adawe's planning skills when, six hours in advance, he receives news that Winston is to arrive to the Swiss Overwatch on the same day as Ziegler.

So now he's got both a genetically engineered gorilla and a doctor who's steadily gaining worldwide fame on their way to base, together, and he's only prepared to deal with the doctor. Jack needs someone to help him with the responsibilities, someone to deal with Winston while he takes care of Ziegler and her team of doctors. But who?

Obviously, Jack panics.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, Lindholm," Jack says, whispers, as he watches a private flight land on their base's newly finished hangar. It's two in the afternoon. Jack keeps his eyes trained before him, hands behind his back — his go-to posture when he wants to appear authoritative and in control, and a cheap imitation of Gabriel he hopes will get him through this. "I really do appreciate it," he continues.

Torbjörn is chuckling next to Jack, a sound mingling with his prosthetic claw's servo motors activating and moving. He's also watching the craft's landing, a curious gleam in his eyes. "You got it, Sir. No way am I missing a space monkey."

"Gorilla," Jack can't help but say, a quiet tug at his lips threatening to have him grinning in amusement. Again with the monkey thing. He presses his lips tight into a line, licks them once, adds, "Don't forget not to call him that to his face, Lindholm. His name is Winston."

"I knew a Winston, once."

Jack sighs. "So you told me."

"He was a scientist with his head so far up his own ass that he failed to realize he was dying of moon rock poisoning," Torbjörn mumbles. "But he did manage to make limes explosive when exposed to said moon rocks. He died how he lived: with a bang."

Jack barely muffles his snort. "That last part you didn't tell me."

It's the strangest thing for Jack to stand here next to the engineer, chatting and laughing like friends already even though they've barely spoken before. But perhaps it's just how the man is. Torbjörn's laughter is similar to Reinhardt's, but different at the same time — both are hearty and loud, yet the engineer's is closer to a mischievous cackle than it is to Reinhardt's trademark booming howl.

The second in command takes his eyes off Torbjörn when he hears the aircraft's engines shutting down, stopping, and his attention immediately snaps to the group of five doctors carefully stepping off.

It's time. Jack inhales deeply, steels himself, and takes the first steps towards the group, Torbjörn by his side. "Remember," he mumbles. "Science and engineering branches only. _Nothing_ about testing prototype turrets in the shooting range, and that's final. I don't want a repeat of last time."

"You just wanna suck the joy out of everything."

Jack's easy smile twitches with barely a contained rebuttal, then with nervousness when he sees the last person exit the aircraft; a slender woman with long, blonde hair kept in a ponytail, and a white coat that flutters behind her with the wind. She says a few words to her fellow doctors before she turns around once more, smiling gently, and helps someone else come down from the vehicle and—

 _Gorilla,_ Jack's mind registers. _That is a gorilla wearing glasses._

Jack harshly clears his throat in warning when he hears Torbjörn snorting. "Doctor Ziegler?" he immediately says to hide it, walking closer to the group until he's standing ten feet away from them, then stops. Torbjörn faithfully joins him to his left.

The woman turns to see him, smiles. She takes the lead by stepping towards him, past the rest of the doctors, and takes Jack's outstretched hand for a handshake. Her grip is stronger than Jack expected. Behind her, the man sees the gorill— _Winston_ stepping forward, a nervous look in his eyes even as he gives Jack a... rather toothy grin.

Focus, Jack.

"That would be me, yes," Angela Ziegler says, earning Jack's attention again. Her eyebrows knit together for a moment, lips pursed, as she eyes him up and down just once. "Jack Morrison, I presume?"

"At your service," Jack bows his head slightly for politeness. Angela hums, lets go of his hand, and Jack offers it for Winston to take, trying hard not to show his hesitation as he gathers his bearings and gets used to the rather unusual situation. "And you must be Winston," Jack expresses. "I have heard about you before. It's an honour to finally meet you in person."

Winston's grip is gentler than how Jack had imagined it would be like, his hands softer than he thought. A childlike light engulfs his eyes the moment he hears of Jack knowing about him, brightening up his face. It's soon replaced by a bashful laugh, his eyes looking away momentarily, his index finger pushing his glasses up his nose once the handshake comes to an end. "It's nice to meet you," Winston says.

It's fascinating, the way his expressions change, his mannerisms show. If Jack can claim to be any good at reading people, then he can claim he sees eagerness in his eyes and body language. With each passing second it's becoming a lot easier for Jack to see him as a new recruit, a scientist, and not a genetically engineered rebellious space gorilla.

Gabriel's going to pay for drilling that phrase into Jack's brain.

Jack snaps himself out of it by pointing over at Torbjörn. "And this is Torbjörn Lindholm, one of Overwatch's weapons engineers," he introduces him, watches Torbjörn shake hands with Winston first. "Winston, he will be showing you around the science and engineering departments today; he's the most qualified man for it."

"Welcome to your favourite anti-Omnic unit's base, lad," Torbjörn greets, prosthetic claw twitching. Winston’s eyes widen at the sight, and all he does is nod. The engineer is addressing the rest of the group behind Ziegler next, saying, "You are all welcome to come by the science branch some time later if you want to see something downright _magical."_

Ziegler laughs. "I do believe we will be visiting, yes."

Of course. The second in command sighs, not at all surprised with Torbjörn's choice of words. But well, at least it got Ziegler laughing. The pair exchange a handshake and a few words, maybe a laugh, while Jack looks over to the rest of the crowd to scan each of their faces. He's amazed when he finds that Ziegler's face is the most youthful one of them all.

He remembers the files describing the woman as the young genius leading Switzerland's medical teams to glory and a golden age of progress. Jack's even heard Ana Amari herself gushing about the woman's immaculate work — her leg, lost in an earlier battle near a medical meeting the blonde had attended in Cairo, served as her reference card to seal Angela Ziegler's recommendation as Overwatch's medic. Ziegler's specialty happens to be prosthetics and medically applied cybernetics, with a bit of recent research into Biotic medicine added somewhere to her CV.

It's all research Overwatch could fund and progress with just one word from the UN's secretary-general, and Jack is aware that Ziegler knows this.

He smiles, bright and cheery, hoping for the best. Jack holds eye contact with Angela Ziegler, gestures towards the entrance. "Allow me to show you to your rooms first, honourable guests," Jack announces, channeling his inner Adawe. "You must be tired from the trip here. We can begin the tour in an hour once you have all rested, if you'd like."

Ziegler does that thing again, where she eyes Jack up and down with something freezing her expression for just a second. Then she smiles, tight at first, until her muscles relax. "That would be much appreciated," she nods, hands gently clasped before her chest. Her ponytail bounces slightly with her movements.

Jack leads the way into the building.

He takes his chance, explains what they see as they walk over to the western wing, showing off some of Overwatch's achievements as he speaks, earning several astonished looks from the five doctors behind Ziegler as he speaks. Because, technically, Jack is also here to sell. To Jack's left, Winston's taken to chatting with Torbjörn about his arm, the Swedish man going on and on about servos, metals, arduinos, and everything scientific that Jack has no further knowledge of to properly appreciate.

He lets them be, even as they separate from the group to head off to Torbjörn’s lab. It’s good enough to see the man getting along so well with Winston already, having apparently accepted him as a new colleague.

To Jack's right, Ziegler's taken to looking off everywhere they walk by. And there it is once again, that expression in her eyes, that slight straightening of her back, the twitch of her lips when she doesn't realize Jack is watching. It’s there even as they arrive to the reserved dorms, and even right before she's closed her room's door after promising to be ready in exactly one hour.  

Jack already knows what it is.

* * *

"She's hesitating," he says into the phone.

On the other end of the receiver, Jack hears Gabriel sigh — a short puff of air that sounds a lot more like static. It makes Jack think the connection is failing, as it always does when either of them are off in a war zone, and his breath momentarily catches in his throat until Gabriel scoffs.

The line steadies for just a little longer.

The clock on Jack's tablet read 11:50 PM when he left his quarters, so Jack assumes it's now officially November eleventh. He absently does the mental math, calculates Gabriel's timezone; it should only be around 6 PM for him, currently stationed in a city named Punta Arenas over in Chile.

Jack runs a hand through his short blond hair. He's standing on one of the compound's recently finished open areas, resting his weight on his forearms, on the railing overlooking a field to the east. He's alone. There's lights in the distance, the thumbprint of a nearby city, but here in this makeshift garden on a balcony, Jack is mostly surrounded by the darkness of the night. The November stars shine brightly above, competing with the light contamination emanating from the city.

Before today, Jack's never been more grateful for this small area finally being finished. It helps him unwind, is all, to be out here watching whatever constellation he can set his sights on, reporting in to his longtime friend, now Commander.

"Hesitating," Gabriel repeats. Jack knows he's being ridiculous when he feels himself nod; this isn't a video call, and there's no way the man can see him. "Why would the doctor hesitate?"

Jack leans away from the railing, crosses his arms, and throws his head back to see the stars. He spies Alioth and follows its trail, drinking in the shape of Ursa Major. "I don't know, but she's probably just afraid of the whole war thing." He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, adds, "But I'll work on it. I swear. It's just today was busy enough already with showing them around base and answering everything and anything about the medical bay."

"You deal with that tomorrow, then," Gabriel says. "What do they think so far, though?"

"They say they like it. Torbjörn even told me Winston was awestruck by his lab." Jack smiles, fondly, recalling the moment he'd gone down into the labs to check up on them only to find the two of them fiddling with a circuit board. He says, "I think they're bonding."

A laugh. "The monkey and the engineer bonded?"

And Jack laughs along, looking down to the floor. "Jesus Christ, Gabe," he chastises. "Stop it with the monkey thing."

There's again static on the line, mixing with the sweet sound of Gabriel's low laugh. Then a sigh, pleased, and Jack closes his eyes, imagines Gabriel leaning back on wherever he's sitting, the smile on his face.

Jack, aching to continue the conversation, clears his throat. "Anyway," he begins, once again looking up to try and find more stars and their respective constellations. "How are things over there? You guys doing okay?"

The question ' _When are you coming back?'_ goes unsaid.

"Yeah, it's fine. A few injured here and there, but they're being taken care of and the mission's almost ready to be labelled a success. It's pretty much just cleanup by now." Gabriel pauses, even more static stubbornly filtering in. Then, as if reading Jack's mind: "Should be back by Tuesday if they hurry the hell up with it."

The blond feels himself smiling, relaxing. "That's good."

Gabriel's been in Chile for about six days now. It's not nearly as long as he's spent in other places, sometimes without even a second to spare for a phone call with Jack, but his absence is still felt anyway. And being stuck at base frustrates Jack; he's standing here under a peaceful sky, away from a battle Jack knows he could help in, while so many Overwatch agents are out there risking their lives to bring peace.

While Gabriel risks his life.

Suddenly, the static grows. It overpowers the line this time, consumes it, and once again Jack's breath catches in his throat. "Gabe?" he calls out, holding onto any sound that resembles the man's voice. They're losing the call. "Gabriel? Gabe, can you hear me?"

He can hear Gabriel still, his words muffled and chopped, cursing. Something about the signal, the word Omnic, then something about calling back later. The line goes silent and Jack swears, takes his phone off his ear to glare at it as if that could bring back Gabriel's voice.

This always happens whenever certain types of Omnics are nearby, particularly those with an electromagnetic reach — they cut off the signals. Every damn time.

Jack feels cold.

"Morrison?"

He turns around so fast he almost drops the phone. Jack yelps and fumbles to hold it properly, only succeeding once he brings the device up to his chest and holds it there, right over his collarbone.

Holy shit.

Who is it? Jack's heart is going on hyperdrive with the scare. He raises his eyes to make eye contact with no one other than Doctor Angela Ziegler herself, hair down, dressed in a turtleneck without the characteristic lab coat, standing near one of the entrances to the compound with a mug in her hand.

Jack straightens up and uselessly fights off the blush that's creeping up his spine. "Doctor Ziegler," he squeaks before he clears his throat. "How may I help you?"

The woman offers him a strange smile, in part confused and in part amused. There's another something in her eyes, but Jack can't quite tell what it is; it doesn't look like her hesitation from before. She bows her head slightly as if apologizing, says, "I'm sorry for interrupting you. I seem to have gotten lost on my way to the kitchen..."

Ah. Jack gives her the most casual, easygoing expression he can muster. "That's alright, Doctor. You haven't interrupted anything," Jack clarifies for her. He takes the phone off his chest and puts it in his back pocket, gently, while maintaining his expression for Ziegler. He nods towards the exit. "Would you like me to walk you there?"

"If it's no problem, then yes, please." Ziegler's eyes wander away from Jack. She picks at a strand of her blonde hair and tugs on it. "My apologies. It'll still take a while for me to get used to the layout of this place."

"It's okay, Doctor Ziegler. I've been there, too," Jack says, appeases, stepping forward. He adds in a laugh, remembering nights of aimless wandering to find certain places, only to be rescued by anyone passing by directing him correctly. "And I've only really gotten used to the Swiss base so far," he continues. "There's another two bases already online and another three under construction worldwide, and we're supposed to visit them all at least once. Could you imagine that?"

She hides her expression behind her free hand, eyes looking somewhere over the horizon behind Jack. "Have you really spread out so far, so quickly? How long has it been?"

Jack stops for a moment. He recognizes the look that crosses Ziegler's eyes, pins it as the telltale sign of hesitation once again coursing through her veins. The quiet chirping of crickets suddenly flares up in a nightly orchestra only for them, covering the silence that stretches for the next three seconds that Ziegler spends festering her doubts.

What is she thinking, Jack wonders. Just what kind of doubt is it that the doctor can't seem to let go of, that circles her like vultures ready to dive in at any moment?

He decides to take the chance before him, clears his throat. Jack calls out her name. Her blue eyes snap to him immediately, and he offers a tiny lift of his lips — not quite a smile, not quite a neutral expression. "Is everything alright?"

Both of her hands fly over to hold the mug, now, as she returns the smile, reflects it like a mirror. "I am fine, Morrison. I've just been thinking," she mumbles, her eyes again wandering off to the scenery behind Jack.

"About Overwatch, perhaps?"

Ziegler's smile drops and Jack feels a mix of satisfaction and guilt settle in his gut, both wanting dominance. The guilt is stronger, and soon it's mostly all that Jack is feeling as he watches her sigh, hold herself to fight off the late night's cold breeze.

"About Overwatch," she confirms.

Jack hums. He's about to prompt her further, on his way to offer some comfort, when the woman herself huffs and starts talking. "Could you tell me, Morrison," she locks eyes with him, blue with blue, "what it was that made you join Overwatch in the first place?"

"It was time someone took a stand against the Omnic threat," Jack delivers immediately. "And I wanted to join in the fight for peace. I was just given the chance to help lead it instead, to found it."

Now she's smirking. "It is a fight, is it not? A war."

Ah. There it is.

It clicks in a second. Jack's shoulders slump a little, his smile finally gaining some sweetness to it. He maintains eye contact for a moment longer before he sets it back up to the sky, automatically searching for a constellation he knows won't appear here at this time of year. Instead he finds Cassiopeia and Ursa Major, Gemini, even Draco's brightest star, Etamin.

Jack wonders if Gabriel can see Libra from where he is — the man's favourite. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Ziegler follow his gaze upwards. He allows himself to smile, sighing as he lets go of his thoughts of Chile, gathers his thoughts. "It is," Jack mumbles, eyes trailing up the faint silhouette of Draco's shape. "But let's not forget that war is fought from many different sides."

"A war is still a war, Sir. And war breeds fear, consumes people's thoughts, causes them to turn everything they can into weapons for survival." Ziegler closes the distance to stand next to Jack, staring at the man until he looks down to meet her detached gaze. "Even their own doctors."

"Overwatch is more than just soldiers and weapons; we're scientists, engineers, doctors, rescue teams," Jack replies. "It is only by everyone's combined efforts that we can push back against the Omnics, save as many lives as possible. We may be classified as a war unit, but at our core, we're an organization formed to fight for peace, to make sure no more lives are unfairly lost."

Ziegler pushes herself away from Jack with two slow steps. She's biting at her lower lip, the hesitation in her eyes clear as day as her grip on her mug visibly tightens. Then her blue gaze looks away from Jack, down to the floor, and Ziegler mumbles something that sounds close to yet another doubt.

The chirping of crickets engulfs the scene again. Jack resolves to keep trying, inhales, takes half a step forward. "I've seen your files on Biotic medicine," Jack begins. "The type of research you're invested in is exceptional and noble, and I would love for it to go much further, to see it realized."

The woman looks back up at him and Jack smiles, people-pleasing, feeling satisfied in the way her hesitance makes way for another expression — something new. With the newfound confidence in him Jack continues, says, "Overwatch may be a new concept, something never seen before, but that's what makes us special. We can help you make the world a better place, doctor. One invention at a time."

"My cybernetics... My research," Ziegler mumbles. Jack watches her draw in a sharp breath. "If... If I am to join this unit, then I want that to be made perfectly clear: that my technology is a way to save people's lives, that they are not weapons." She straightens her back, finishes with, "That is my one condition, Morrison."

Jack Morrison never dreaded November tenth, nor did he dread having to deal with convincing a twenty nine year old genius doctor and scientist to join their cause, to let go of her doubts and give them all a chance. Because it's been three months of embracing the role of humanity's hope, of seeing what Overwatch is capable of, people from all over the world rising to join in the battle for Earth's survival.

This is what Gabriel is out there fighting for. Overwatch is a chance for humanity to defend itself, for the strong to protect what matters. They are the light during the war, justice, honour, compassion — they are hope.

And Doctor Angela Ziegler will see this, with time. Jack knows this. He gives the woman the brightest grin he can, nods, offers his hand for a midnight handshake. "We will respect all conditions you name, doctor," he says. "And you may call me Jack. We're not exactly operating during work hours right now."

"Then call me Angela," she replies. Her stance, her expression, even her voice have relaxed, palpable in the difference of the strength in her grip compared to earlier today. "We can discuss this again tomorrow, then, once we've both rested. Come to a mutual agreement. For now, is your offer to show me to the kitchen still up?"

Jack lets go of her hand and gestures to the compound. "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY... WE CAN GET SOME PLOT IN AFTER ALL THIS BUILDUP
> 
>  **Some Interesting Notes!:**  
>  1\. Two of the stories about the new recruits Jack mentions were very much inspired by the World War Z book!  
> 2\. Gabriel's birthday being on November 2nd is three things: 1) A reference to the Day of the Dead, 2) An accidental way of making him a Scorpio, and 3) A way of honouring my grandmother, whose birthday was also on Nov 2nd  
> 3\. The Sugar Skull tradition is Awesome. The skulls are given as gifts on November 1st and 2nd among friends and family, but typically, you're supposed to put them on your offering, marked for the person you're making the offering to -- hence, the name tag's importance. There's a lot more about Nov 2nd I didn't touch upon, but you can read more about the Day Of The Dead [here](http://www.mexicansugarskull.com/support/dodhistory.html) and [here](http://traditionscustoms.com/death-rites/day-of-dead-mexico) if you'd like to learn more!!  
> 4\. The candy Reinahrdt, Ana, and Jack ate together is based off of [Pica Fresas](https://tasteopinion.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/img_0235.jpg), a kinda spicy Mexican candy I actually can't handle either lol
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	3. The Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Releases a chapter right before I go back to college] It's fine  
> [Slaps "AU - Canon Divergence" on the tags before First Strike is released] IT'S FINE
> 
>  **Special Thanks** this chapter go to Aly, for betaing and suggesting things when I got stuck. Red and Megs for helping me out BIG TIME when I got stuck on the first part of this chapter (lol). Ciri ([@antivancrows](https://twitter.com/antivancrows) on Twitter!) for explaining to me a bit of how Biotic medicine would work, even if I didn't end up using it; you did help out!! Also to Aki for hearing me babble about Chaos Theory bc of this chapter!! And finally, [Zoe](https://twitter.com/bladecharge) and [@_dad76](https://twitter.com/_dad76) on Twitter for suggesting The Song. 
> 
> Thank you all so very much!!

First order of business for Jack Morrison on this fine day is locating Gabriel Reyes.

They've both been summoned down to the lab by Torbjörn and Angela and Jack is the only one who answered the call, Gabriel stubbornly remaining quiet. He’s not in his office, he’s not in the meeting room. So seeing how Jack knows him best, he’s been tasked with finding and dragging the man down to the basement with him, ASAP.

Jack wastes no time and checks the training center immediately.

A loud thud, a stifled laugh, and a muttered curse, in that order, are usually the main three repeated sounds heard in the center whenever Gabriel Reyes and Ana Amari are sparring together. And usually, they all come from Gabriel.

He's only three steps into the sparring arena when he hears the man shouting something about a rematch, the sound booming over Ana's impressive cackling and the echoes of dummy melee weapons clanking against each other, the sound of other people shouting. He smirks, nodding quick hellos to other soldiers as he walks by their own sparring matches. This is a place for close-quarters-combat only — the shooting range houses all their firearms, from big to small, for anyone to get their practice done.

He keeps walking, on his way to the source of the match until he catches sight of Ana, chest puffed, with her hands on her hips. There's two water bottles to their left. The woman is looking down to Gabriel, the man resting on the floor in a pose characteristic of someone who has just gotten his ass beat at CQC.

"Score's six-four, Reyes," Ana says, breathing heavily. "I win."

Gabriel replies, "I happened to have let you win."

"Bullshit, _Sir!"_ Jack catches Ana's reply, sees her bending down ever so slightly. Her eyebrow is raised and her smirk is gaining a slight edge to it, tattoo under her eye wrinkling with the expression. "You lost fair and square."

Jack cuts in before this can get any further — it's been long enough now that he knows exactly how these two get when they start arguing about matches, about kill counts, about anything at all that the two of them can compete on. He calls out to them with a loud shout, catches their attention, and grins.

Ana walks up to him first, leaving Gabriel in the dust to pick himself up from the floor. "Morrison!" she greets, clasping a strong hand on his shoulder. "Good of you to drop in. We need you to solve a dispute."

"Again?" Jack laughs. "I'm here on official business, Amari."

The sharpshooter huffs a short laugh of her own. She steps closer to the mat, still with her hand on Jack's shoulder, gently dragging him along. Gabriel's already standing up when they reach him, as Ana gestures between him and herself with an open palm. "Please just supervise another round," she says. She holds up a finger for emphasis. "One more. The decisive one, this time. It won't even take me ten minutes to destroy him."

"Excuse me," Gabriel says cheekily. He's holding one of the bottles in his hand, wiping some water on his neck. One bushy eyebrow is raised at Ana, his face steely, hiding amusement. "That is no way to talk about your Strike Commander."

The man's eyes then snap over to Jack, expression unchanged. But Jack catches the hidden clues in the other’s face — _'Don't do it, obviously I won,'_ they say, available only for him. Right. The blond rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, shifts his weight onto his left leg. He gives Ana a smile and a nod, says, "Fine. Kick his ass, Amari."

Gabriel's splutter is comically audible. "I thought you were on my side, you traitor!"

Jack shrugs at the Commander, savouring the mock-offense in the other's eyes and the not-really-there pout. It's a good look for him. To Jack’s amusement, Ana snaps her fingers into the vague shape of two guns, winks cockily in a silent promise to deliver.

Oh, he knows she will.

Morrison knows he shouldn't be doing this, enabling two overly passionate people to settle a score through beating the shit out of each other, but he can't find it in himself to stop them. He's supposed to drag Gabriel away from here and down to the labs where they've both been summoned, but Jack would be lying if he said he's not looking forward to seeing Ana Amari, quote, destroy him, unquote.

Gabriel and Ana have their arms up ready, bodies lowered, watching each other like two predators ready to pounce. They would probably circle each other for effect if they could. Though the aura emanating from the two is intimidating and heavy, the grins on their faces, the giddy bounce to their anticipating steps, they all give them away — this is just for fun, a bonding exercise.

Jack is standing before them now. He holds up a hand, his marker to tell them when to begin the match, and looks between the man and the woman with a toothy grin. He adds fuel to the growing fire between them, suggesting, "Any bets?"

"If I win," Ana picks up right away, her grin wild, "then Reyes has to let me have a 'bring your daughter to work' month during summer."

Hold the phone.

The world comes to an abrupt halt just as Jack's grin falters. He sets his widened blue eyes on Ana, mouth going agape with a wheeze, and struggles for about two seconds until his brain reconnects with itself to form a coherent response. "Daughter?" he splutters. "You have a daughter?"

He goes ignored when Gabriel scoffs. "You're not gonna make Overwatch babysit Fareeha for you, are you?"

"It's not babysitting when my daughter's fourteen years old," Ana explains after chortling at the two men.

What the hell? What the hell. The world is rapidly spinning into confusion in front of Jack, made even worse by how long he's going without a response. So Jack directs his attention back to Gabriel, marker arm lowered so he can hold his hands before him to demand, "You knew she has a daughter?"

Next thing Jack sees, Gabriel is rolling his eyes before he sets them on Jack, an eyebrow raised. "She's been mentioning the kid since before the Christmas party," he explains, a little irritation dripping from his words at odd intervals.

"Oh, Jack. You're going to love her," Ana pitches in.

Gabriel clears his throat, earning back Ana's attention. "If I win," he says, "then you have to attend the Madrid meeting as my representative. You get to deal with two days of listening to boring execs talk and talk about Overwatch and the UN, fill up reports, send the details to me later. That a deal?"

Ana licks her lips. "You're _on,_ Reyes."

* * *

Up until now, the elevator ride down to the basement levels of the Swiss Base has been comfortably quiet for the most part. Then, finding nothing better to do in the silence, Jack thinks again on the fight between Gabriel and Ana in the training center, remembers Gabriel's look of offense as the woman overcame his defenses and shoved him face-down to the floor, and ungracefully fails to bite back the snort that causes Gabriel to snap at him.

"Shut the fuck up, Morrison," Gabriel growls his words like some threat, a warning. But it's clear that they're lacking their usual bite, and all that does is make Jack start _cackling._

The sound engulfs the elevator.

Now the Commander is glaring daggers at the door, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his black beanie in an obvious attempt to block out Jack's doubled over, laughing form. His lips are parted enough to show off his canines as he grits his teeth, grumbling, "Be fucking quiet."

Every time Jack tries to defend himself another giggle pulls down his words. He catches himself after the fifth laugh by clearing his throat, bites his tongue, presses his empty palm to his cheek in a stupid attempt to hide the grin on his face.

"I didn't say anything," he says, voice on the verge of breaking.

"Don't you start with me." Gabriel's glare is now finally on Jack, and the blond feels an odd satisfaction settle in his stomach. His Commander grumbles again, continues. "I swear, everyone thinks you're such a cute lil' angel, Morrison, but I _know_ you," the man squints. "You're the biggest little shit ever. You may look like Overwatch's perfect Golden Boy, but I know you have a secret mischievous streak the likes of which I've ever seen before in a person. It's impressive."

Something bubbles in Jack's chest. He quickly dismisses it to bat his eyelashes, focusing on the joking. "You really think I'm pretty enough to be the Golden Boy of Overwatch?"

"I'm gonna punch your perfect little teeth in and ruin those chances if you don't shut the fuck up right now." Then, under Gabriel's breath Jack catches: _"Pinche niño bonito pendejo."_

Jack shoves his weight against Gabriel's side in a playful push. The other only growls, but there's no longer any malice behind it; it's been replaced with something low and rumbling, resigned, that Jack recognizes as the beginning of a sulky mood.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Gabriel is out of there in no time, stepping away from Jack with a scoff and long steps, head held up high.

He doesn't slow down even after Jack jogs up to him, all grins and chuckles. "Hey," Jack whispers once he's caught up to the man. Gabriel spares him a glance and the blond quickly softens his grin. "You fought valiantly and well. You can stop taking it out on me now."

Something in Gabriel's expression breaks. The aggressive air around him dissipates into mere irritation. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, something caught between a growl and a hum, and visibly deflates. "Whatever," he mumbles. "I would've let Amari bring her kid over in summer anyway. She didn't have to..."

Jack can't resist the urge to complete the sentence: "Suplex you?"

Gabriel's eyes darken dangerously again, but Jack knows he's safe from any repercussions to his actions when they arrive to a set of doors that slide automatically open as soon as they come close enough.

In reality, the Swiss base only has three large laboratories, regardless of the expanding science division: two for science, one for engineering. Torbjörn's requested a private section of the engineering lab to run amok uninterrupted in, large enough to house two rooms.

He's filled this room with at least six different drawing tables in groups of three, each housing some digital blueprint for a weapon or device of Torbjörn's invention. Another table's been hurriedly added in somewhere near the corner, bigger in size and covered with stickers on the legs, a single physical blue sheet on top — Winston's temporary working area until he's moved to Gibraltar.

Jack has never been inside of the other room, but he's heard and seen enough to get a vague idea of what it might be like. He's seen the man himself walk out of there with a welding mask and his claw glowing red with heat, seen the stations before the doors close behind Torbjörn when he leaves the room, cluttered with all kinds of tools and hardware the second in command could never hope to properly use or even identify.

Heard the whirring of mechanical parts while he's waited outside, the clanking of tools, all of it accompanied sometimes by the echoes of Torbjörn's laughter.

Enough said.

As they make their entrance to the drawing room, Gabriel's entire demeanor changes. He straightens with a slight jump, his face twitches into a lighter version of his frustration towards Jack — now he just looks annoyed in general. His hands fly to rest behind his back, clasped together, sealing the deal and selling him as the authority he is and has always been.

Meanwhile, Jack waves over at Angela Ziegler, seeing her smiling in a surprised welcome before she walks off into said second room with something small in her thickly gloved hands.

"About time you made your way here," Torbjörn speaks first, his eyes never leaving his work.

The engineer is sitting on a tall stool, hunched over one of the tables, a white stylus in hand, a holo-screen hovering to his left. Behind him, seated in an angle that makes it possible for him to look over Torbjörn's shoulder, Winston lets go of a rubix cube to push his glasses up his nose. He then waves over to the two men in a silent greeting.

Only Jack returns it. Gabriel's always preferred to nod.

"We came as fast as we could," Jack says.

Gabriel picks up from there. "Hopefully we didn't keep you waiting too long."

"Not me," Torbjörn continues absently, smirk hidden behind his facial hair yet present in his voice. "It's Angie who's been growing restless with the wait."

"I have not," Angela states when she walks back inside, a barely audible scoff preceding her words. After throwing Torbjörn a harmless dirty look she stops before Jack and Gabriel, bows her head slightly, pulling her gloves off with ease. "But I do have something to show you both," she chimes. "Come in, please."

They follow her up to one of the drawing tables, the one directly to Torbjörn's left. Seeing and sensing their arrival the engineer finally lifts his head off his work, rests the stylus on the crevice of the table, turns off the station to focus on Angela's own. Jack catches the look he gives Winston over his shoulder; apologetic, short, apparently accepted when all Winston does is shrug.

Angela takes a seat and boots up the system for the blueprints. Torbjörn doesn't leave his seat, but pushes himself a little so he's facing Angela's direction, his prosthetic whirring. Winston goes back to work on his rubix cube, assembling it and disassembling it multiple times in different patterns for his own amusement.

They make a strange team, the three of them.

"I've been working on my Biotic medicine research since we received the funds in January," Angela begins, catching everyone's attention. Gabriel stands to Angela's left, Jack to the right, close to Torbjörn's claw. "And I have a few projects in mind I wish to show you both. For approval."

The digital screen on the table shines to life. Angela takes its respective stylus to tap onto an icon on the desktop, and the holo-screen Torbjörn had been using snaps to hover in front of Angela's station, displaying a mirror image of what's already on the station.

She taps a file open. The title card is limited to two colours; the word _'Barmherzigkeit'_ in white, the background in blue.

"Now, I'm not going to be talking about the inner mechanisms of Biotic medicine today," Angela begins, "but I will be talking about a way to combine it with my nanotechnology and a new something we've designed. I am proud to announce that _Barmherzigkeit,_ or Mercy, is a two-part collaboration project between Torbjörn and I."

The man in question giggles excitedly and strokes at his mustache. He shares a smirk with Angela, who responds in kind. It’s contagious, Jack realizes, as he smirks as well.

"Get the show on the road, both of you," Gabriel commands.

Angela nods. With the stylus in her hand she swipes the project's title card to the left, makes way for a new one with the blueprints for a device resembling a rod. The rest of the drawings exemplify the rod's head — a gun barrel-like opening sticking out on the unsealed end, pushed forwards by the same mechanism that hides it when it closes.

Basic design, yet functional.

"This is the blueprint for a device we've named the Caduceus Staff," Angela explains. "It's been on the works for a few weeks now. We have the theoretical basics of how to store my Biotic nanotech within the staff, then fire it in a stream that can attach itself onto a specified target, compiled into a file already."

Torbjörn picks up from there after hiding a cough into his fist. "The staff itself is prone to change as we test it out," he says. "New models happen, after all. But the general idea is to master the way this staff works, then try and use that knowledge to create other modes of transport for Angie's nanomachines."

"We're talking about all kinds of possibilities here," Angela interjects, eyes wide, grin bright. Her hands fly up to gesture as she speaks, stylus still held in her right hand. "Healing orbs as easy to carry as grenades, mine-like fields to cover large areas. We could bring Biotic medicine into the battlefield and heal our injured faster on-site instead of waiting until we can hook them to a machine for treatment."

Gabriel crosses his arms, shifts his weight to a more comfortable position. He strokes at his beard with his index and thumb fingers, humming — a telltale sign of his interest on a subject. "Where's the second part?"

Angela's eyes are practically shining. She swipes at the blueprints on the table, brings up another depicting a suit of armour with wings on the back, drawn in at least five different angles and with notes in two different types of handwriting scattered here and there.

Jack grins. "Torbjörn?"

"Of course!" the man confirms. He points over at the holo-screen with his claw, clicking it closed once with a loud sound. "This is the Valkyrie suit," he explains. "Angela's little pet project that she's roped me into."

She scoffs. "You should be honoured, Lindholm. We are forwarding the cause of medical science with this design."

Torbjörn shrugs. "It's still a little too... _extra."_

"Define _'extra,'_ " Angela crosses her arms.

Behind them, Jack hears Winston sigh. "Here they go again."

"I will start with the wings," Torbjörn says. " _Why_ wings? I used rocket propellers for Reinhardt, and they work wonders for his speed. You just want to look like a flying pun."

"I've told you many times that they're for easy maneuvering in the battlefield. And they are quieter than a propeller, by the way. Easier to conceal and mount, too, and less expensive."

"Maneuvering?! You can't even modify your trajectory with this design — the wings don't move! They're purely aesthetic at this stage!"

Just before Angela has any chance to start with her rebuttal, Gabriel sighs heavily and sets a hand on her shoulder, as gently as he can. Yet even with the care he takes not to startle her she still jumps, sets her wide eyes up on the man, hands clasped before her and holding onto the stylus like a lifeline.

She looks incredibly young.

"Focus, both of you," the Commander chastises. "What does the suit do?"

Angela laughs tightly and swallows hard, going back to focus on the blueprint design. To her right, Torbjörn rolls his eyes and leans against his own table, expression blank. "It's only a proposal for now," Angela begins, "for me to join you in the field as part of your first-response medical team. It would be my armour, and the Staff my own tool. It's all been designed with such a scenario in mind."

"And yet the wings don't move," Jack hears Torbjörn mutter, right before the blond shoots him a dirty look to get him to shut up.

Gabriel takes the lead and hums, steps away from Angela. "You think this could work, then?" he asks, gesturing. "Both the staff and the suit. You're certain."

Angela nods so eagerly her ponytail bounces. "Definitely. I've run a few tests on the staff's least complicated science and a few digital simulations on the suit. All I need is permission to build the prototypes to begin real life testing."

The Commander shoves his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, an air of finality surrounding him in an instant. "Good," he speaks. "Then send a detailed report to my inbox about both projects. Include the blueprints and sign it under both of your names."

"Are you approving it?" Angela breathes.

Next to her, Torbjörn leaps off his stool with a snicker, walking over to the second door with lazy steps. Seeing him gone, Winston climbs down his own seat and directs himself to a locker near his drawing table.

"We'll go over it and let the UN council know," Jack says. He's the one to set a hand on the doctor's shoulder this time. "There's a lot of processing before it can be approved. Do try to send it within the next two days if you can, too."

"Oh. Because you're leaving for London, right?"

The blond huffs, gaze snapping to Gabriel to find him already groaning and rolling his eyes, a disgusted sneer drawing itself on his face. "Yeah. Visiting over for the Splitstream's first flight," Jack laughs. "Can't wait for that. Right, Reyes?"

Gabriel shoots him another glare from his repertoire. Less aggressive, but just as annoyed.

Jack is about to snark back when the sound of someone clearing their throat catches his attention. He twists his head to the source of the sound, eyes locking with none other than Winston's bespectacled ones.

The gorilla holds eye contact for at least another second until he uncomfortably averts his gaze. "Ah, sorry," Winston says. "It's just... are they seriously testing it now? Already?"

Angela huffs and wraps her arms around herself, leaning forwards to look at him from under the screen. "Are you still worried about the spaghetti thing?"

"Spaghettification," Winston deadpans. Jack feels a little bad for the gorilla when he feels his own lips curl into a smirk, and even more when he hears Gabriel laughing. "And, no, it's not just spaghettification that worries me," he continues, taking his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. "It's... something more along the lines of general relativity and chaos theory."

Winston grumbles something under his breath, puts his glasses back on before he speaks. "With all due respect, what they want to do is much too ambitious for a flight program that's been online for such a short time," he says. "Wormhole teleportation? Tell me that's not at least a little bit worrying."

"It's all under control, Winston," Jack says, once again assuming the role of pacifist. He lets go of Angela's shoulder and goes over to stand near Gabriel, ready to elbow the motherfucker if he dares laugh at Winston again. "The Gibraltar science and research branch are behind this project, and they're some of our best minds on board. I'm sure they know what they're doing."

"It'll be _fine,"_ Gabriel agrees.

But Winston shakes his head. "I'm just saying that trying to play with physics of this kind is a dangerous thing, not even mentioning the dangers of handling negative matter. And the wormhole itself, and— and the aircraft!" he suddenly exclaims. "Can the aircraft they have handle the strain of the gravity at the throat?"

"That's exactly what I've been saying all along!" Torbjörn's voice booms as he walks in, startling Jack. In his arms the engineer carries a box full of electronic components, cables, a small blue circuit board, and a limp pink tentacle. He sets everything on the table he'd been using, climbs back onto the stool. "They should've let me have a hand in the design. I would've make that thing capable of riding through a _black hole."_

"Now, you see, I'm not even into that kind of science and even I know that black holes are even worse," Angela gets her opinion in, already drawing new add-ons to her blueprint on the table. "Stick to the wormholes and nobody dies."

"People can die in wormholes anyway!" Winston whines back at them both.

"Nobody's going to fucking die in a wormhole. They've got it all under control," Gabriel groans, walking off towards the door. "Anyway, if that's all, I'll be leaving now. Carry on, science trio."

Jack excuses himself to Angela and Torbjörn, then follows after his Commander. When he reaches the door he calls out to Winston last minute, meets the gorilla's worried gaze, gives him the sweetest look in the book — the kind Jack uses to soothe nervous recruits and trainees.

"I'm sure everything's going to be just fine," Jack says.

* * *

He should've known he'd end up jinxing everything.

It's gone. Thirteen minutes into the flight and the entire aircraft is gone in a bright flash of blue, comm lines eerily silent save for the static. It happens in the blink of an eye, so fast that Jack hears the control tower's last request for the pilot die out in the line before silence grabs at everyone's spines, shakes them up with a shudder.

For a second nobody moves. Then the static goes quiet, the line finally silent, and the fragility of the moment shatters like glass.

Jack feels weak. Someone pushes past him, bumping shoulders, and he stumbles. He wheezes out something that's supposed to be a question on how this whole thing could've happened, instead finds the air knocked out of his lungs as he stumbles forwards. He can't breathe, can't think; all his mind repeats is that someone was in that aircraft, someone young.

_The pilot. Where is the pilot._

He's mumbling requests while Gabriel barks demands. Yet he doesn't realize nobody's listening to his low voice; the control tower's staff are all shouting about everything at once. Or it's all he can register at the moment, anyway — engineers and scientists screaming data, calling in for the pilot to report in, to say something, anything.

Officers on the airstrip, running amok, checking everywhere they can for any evidence of the aircraft's whereabouts. Gabriel's voice booming something and someone else shouting a reply back. Jack's ears are ringing, his blue eyes glued to the flat line of the pilot's comm-line on the main screen, ironically undisturbed by the chaos of the control room.

It's all a blur of white noise. A cacophony of orders and pleas, of the pilot's name and call sign; a broken orchestra caught off-guard by a sudden change, all trying to catch up last minute, knowing that they're failing.   

Who knows when it is that Gabriel takes him by the shoulders, how many times he's snapped his fingers in front of Jack's face to get his attention. "Hey," the man says. "Let's get you out of here."

Jack nods dumbly.

He can't recall how the two of them remove themselves off the picture and leave the control room to fester in their own panic. Can't do much about it anyway, Gabriel reassures Jack. Best thing they could do would be stay in base in case anything else happens, maybe bring some more scientists in to try and figure out just what the hell happened with the Splitstream. Join forces in this emergency to find their pilot.

_The pilot._

In his daze, Jack still manages to name Winston. He misses what Gabriel does with the suggestion, though, trying hard not to think on everything the scientist said about wormholes and design, about gravity, about death.

And then the report comes in, exactly fifteen hours post-accident, detailing the event.

Morrison can't read it; he has Gabriel do it instead. Read the whole thing aloud as if it were some sort of horror tale, as if it'd burn him if he so much as looked at it, as if it were cursed. While the man speaks, Jack can only picture the pilot's young face, bits and pieces of her profile popping here and there, information mixing, mashing itself together the more Gabriel reads.

Pilot: Lena Oxton. Call sign: Tracer. Main malfunction of the airship's matrix. Born in London, an adventurer. Pressure too hard in the wormhole, the materials being unable to withstand it. The whole damn thing popped out of this plane in space-time. Twenty-six years old, best known for her fearless piloting skills in the British military. Splitstream project considered a failure, to be shut down, reevaluated with more care.

Twenty-six years old.

Pilot presumed dead.

* * *

For all his kindness and charisma, his okay leading skills, Jack Morrison is still not a man of healthy coping mechanisms.

It's been exactly one hundred days. One hundred days and he still can't let it go, somehow, the guilt eating at him no matter what he does or where he goes; it's Jack's stubborn streak presenting itself in its worst way possible, haunting him with the death of one single person as if Jack hadn't lost many more before, growing within him like a bomb.

Jack releases it in the same way he has since that day in March; violently, yet productively.

In the training center he can do whatever he wants to vent, and his position gives him the privacy of no one bothering him as he beats up a training dummy with ferocity only seen in the battlefield. People steer clear of him when he's like this, leaving him alone in a corner of the room to do battle with more than just a dummy.

Jack grits his teeth, huffs, throws a quick jab at the dummy. It feels good. He grumbles under his breath and throws another, fire travelling from his chest to his fist, releasing itself in an explosion of power upon contact with the dummy. Feels good again, even better. One very specific number flashes into his head right as he goes for a low kick, the fire ignited further, the blow more explosive.

Twenty-six.

He hisses through his teeth and aims a flurry of punches at the dummy..

Carelessness, pride. Attributes he'd criticized on the world's governments, now present in Overwatch itself every time he thinks back on the Splitstream incident. And even though the project's long since been cancelled, it's come at a great price; all that media backfire at the announcement of Oxton's death, the opposition within the UN council, it almost cost them their diplomatic immunity to keep testing new technologies, almost stopped Angela's Biotic research dead on its tracks.

It's only by necessity that they managed to achieve a global pardon. But they have to be careful now, make better calls and reel in their overconfident desires. Overwatch is now walking on a delicate tightrope, a balancing act of placating the crowds, proving their ability to maintain independence, and letting their own people continue on the race to technological progress to aid in their victory.

Twenty-six.

Presumed dead.

Something snaps in him. Jack's next punch is tempestuous enough to send the dummy flying, its trajectory only stopped when it hits the wall opposite of him with a loud whack.

Instantly the room goes silent. He doesn't need to look to know the other people here have turned to stare at him in disbelief — maybe fear or shock — as per usual, but Jack still curses under his breath when he feels a stone clog up his throat, warmth cover his face whole.

Jack curls his hands into fists by his sides, uncurls them after two seconds. He's panting. Sweat drips down his chin and he drags a hand down his face, messily wipes it away as his shoulders droop. The adrenaline slowly flows out of him in waves with each quick rise and fall of his chest. Jack closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and holds it until he counts to ten, slowly, trying to steady his trembling thoughts and hands, his own breathing.

 _"Sali,_ Morrison."

The voice would startle him if it was anyone else's. "Doctor Ziegler," Jack mumbles, corners of his lips curling upwards into a lazy, tired smile. He opens his eyes and turns to look at her after another deep breath, stabilizes the expression into something more genuine for her.

She's wearing her lab coat, emanating a scent of antiseptic and other chemicals, obviously fresh out of the medical bay. Angela crosses her arms and gets to the point: "You missed your post-mission doctor's appointment scheduled for two hours ago."

Jack's stomach curls into a knot, and his smile falters. Right. He'd forgotten about that, made a beeline for the training center instead of following protocol. He tugs at the fingerless gloves on his hands, stepping away towards the fallen dummy.

"I'm fine."

"Lisbon was not an easy mission, Morrison," Angela calls out, trailing behind him. "It's protocol to run a checkup on everyone upon arrival to base, no matter the rank."

 _This isn't about rank,_ Jack thinks, biting at the inside of his cheek. "It won't be necessary," he insists after a beat. "I wasn't even hurt or anything."

Angela finally huffs. "As I can see, Jack, but we're not going against the rules. Go get cleaned up and then you're coming with me."

He actually laughs at that. Jack reaches the dummy and picks it up, hauling it over his shoulder with one quick, easy movement. His tired blue eyes meet Angela's fiery, lively ones, the exasperation boiling in her veins visible in the way her gaze almost petrifies Jack, the way she incredulously raises her eyebrow at him.

Seeing her like this, stubbornly set in getting Jack to the medical bay, triggers an absent memory like a bolt of lightning in his mind. Jack's smile turns genuine for one small moment, a huffy laugh escaping him. "You know," he says, shaking his head. "My aunt was a doctor, before. You remind me of her."

Jack's words are so quiet, so gentle, only a whisper for her to hear. Intimate in a way, Jack opening a window to a deep part of his life without realizing it, letting Angela in. They almost become lost with the rest of the echoes of the training center, his words, but when Angela's body and expression soften, Jack's sure she's heard him.

The dummy's even more wrecked than Jack thought it'd be — it'll have to be repaired. In silence and with Angela still on tow, Jack carries it over to dump it on the training center's supervisor, mumbling an apology when their eyes widen.

He didn't need to destroy Overwatch property like this, cathartic as it might've been. A little bug of shame bites at Jack's heart and spreads an uneasiness all through his nerves, paralyzing and warm, leaving him in a slight daze.

Angela's patient with him. Something in her demeanor from before has changed, and she holds herself relaxed before Jack, friendlier. Quiet, almost pensive, with a strange softness surrounding her and flooding her eyes. She waits without protest as Jack gets ready for his belated doctor's appointment, their interactions only unreadable looks or short words as they make their way to Angela's private office rather than the typical common examination room they always use for these check-ups.

Strange, but he doesn't complain.

The doctor closes her door with a doft click. Jack, stiffly and silently, walks over to sit on the examination table for lack of anything else to do, only realizes Angela's stayed by the door when her absence becomes too prominent to ignore.

"It's not your fault, you know."

In an instant, Jack's breath hitches. His muscles tense, and after a second the air in his throat is released in the husky shell of a laugh, bitter and tired. "We're here for a check-up, doctor."

Her footfalls are loud as she walks up to stand before Jack, expression solemn yet determined, eyes locked on Jack even as the man himself averts his gaze. "It was an accident, Jack," Angela declares.

Something in Jack shatters.

"And it should never have happened in the first place," he exclaims, turning to face her again, voice shuddering as he has to physically remind himself not raise it at her by digging his fingers on the examination table's softer material. God, he hasn't verbally vented in so long.

He takes a stabilizing deep breath, runs a hand through his blond hair. "They rushed the program. We all knew there'd be consequences to rushing it, and yet it was still approved. Now look at what's happened."

Angela's arms are crossed again. She inhales sharply before speaking, eyes less fiery and filled with something Jack can't quite place. "The world is scared and desperate," she begins. "In their recklessness they want progress, and sometimes... sometimes that comes with a price."

"It's still irresponsible," he counters.

"Now, that is something I agree on," comes her mumble. She sighs, shifts her weight from foot to foot. "But the world's given us another chance to make things right, to prove to them that we can handle this. We should give ourselves another chance. You," she states, uncrossing her arms to gently touch at Jack's bicep, "should give yourself a chance."

The hand on his arm squeezes gently, reassuring, as she gives him her softest smile. It's as if with the touch she were slowly draining away at Jack's guilt, helping him relax into a sag that leaves him feeling more tired than he was after stopping his training. Now there's ice in his veins, a rope tugging his heart down from the previous angry fire and into the cool defeat Angela's helping him settle into.

Seeing him remain silent, Angela squeezes at his arm again, puffing out a quick breath that plays with the blond bangs closest to her mouth. "I'm not telling you to stop mourning Oxton," she's whispering as if the words were only for the two of them, only for Jack. "Never forget her, Jack. But... don't blame yourself for this. It wasn't your fault."

"I still didn't do anything to stop it," Jack mumbles back, eyes shut tight as the memory of the blue flash comes crawling back. On instinct, his hand flies to cover Angela's, turning her into an anchor to keep him steady in the now. "I should've listened to Winston. He knew something was wrong. If I'd listened to him, I— "

Jack expects to be interrupted by Angela, with the woman further pulling him away from self-doubt and self-destructive thoughts, but that never comes. Instead what catches him off guard and causes him to jump in surprise is the loud beeping of his personal phone line receiving more than one message, over and over, incessantly going off in his pocket.

When he goes to fish it out and check them, Angela's hand on his arm is long gone. She's decided to temporarily lay the subject to rest and instead prepares everything for Jack's check-up, the clinking of medical tools and the humming of machinery filling the silence that settles in the interruption. There's that antiseptic smell in the air again. With one tap Jack goes to check the seventeen messages from Adawe herself, already feeling a knot of unease in his belly until he sees what they say.

Right then the knot becomes a punch in the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs with a wheeze, alerting Angela as he mouths the words he's reading.

Twenty-six, Lena Oxton.

Found in Gibraltar.

* * *

"You're going to want to be very careful," Winston tells them as they make their way through a series of high security doors, down to the basements, getting the clear to go through by having Winston show his ID to guards and control panels alike. "First, you can't stay for longer than thirty minutes. Trust me, it used to be worse. And you cannot leave the observation room."

Another door opens with a satisfying beep of the ID scanner, the LED light flashing from red to green in a second with the authorized access. Upon entering the next section Jack is suddenly very aware of the more comforting lights in each room they pass through, noting that the fluorescent, sterile white ceiling lamps have started giving away a fainter light, softer.

They're in a new room, rather than a hallway. Jack wonders if this is the observation chamber Winston mentioned, but quickly dismisses the thought upon seeing the computers and machines monitoring everything and anything coming from two rooms away.

It's a station, then, Jack concludes. A station smelling heavily of coffee, with the faint booming of some sound in the distance, too muffled to make it out, housing six very disheveled scientists.

Two of them stop them in their tracks before they can get any further; the first apologizes, says something about official procedures and maintenance, while the second urges them to take anything electronic off their persons and deposit it in a tray by one of the doors.

Jack and Gabriel oblige instantly. The blond lets the previous conversation with Winston hang in the air for later while the gorilla gets a word in with another of the scientists. Jack doesn't quite catch the exchange, but manages to snatch a few words here and there — something about temperature, about magnetism, about a belated crumpet delivery finally arriving yesterday.

Alright.

A woman with short black hair is the one to declare them clear to go. Though right before she can open the door, Winston turns to the two men he's escorting, wringing his large hands together as he looks between them both.

His grin shows teeth. "The observation room's next door," Winston declares, one hand vaguely gesturing to the final door over his shoulder. "Now, after a few minutes you might feel a little... physically overwhelmed, maybe, but that's gravity for you. That's why you can't stay for too long. Also," Winston's brow furrows worryingly. "Please try to be gentle with her? She did just return from a trip through space-time."

Feeling the need to pacify, Jack is the first to speak, biting back a laugh for the sake of professionalism. "We'll be on our best behaviour."

Winston nods slowly. He steps away, lets them get closer to the door. "You can go in now. Unless you've got any questions?"

"I've got one. Just one," Gabriel mockingly raises his hand up to his chest as if asking for permission. "The hell is that sound coming from in there?" he asks, pointing to the door with his chin, eyebrow raised.

"ABBA's greatest hits," a man sitting in front of a computer supplies, shrugging. His eyes don't leave the screen, even when he quietly sips at his coffee mug. "She got bored two days into containment and we let her pick some music. She has good taste."

The black haired woman from before sighs and rolls her eyes. "Okay, then," she says. She presses a button on a terminal by the door, letting it open it with a loud hiss. "Thirty minutes."

Winston urges them inside yet another small room, grey and unimpressive, where they're told to stay put until the door behind them closes and the area is deemed safe enough. Why, Jack doesn't know, but the amused look he shares with Gabriel for the next two seconds, as the previous booming in the monitoring station clears enough to reveal a symphony and lyrics behind it, is worth it.

The next door opens with a beep and a hiss, revealing a clinically white room with a large window to their left, facing the containment chamber.

Jack doesn't know what he expects out of a twenty-six year old who's spent nearly a hundred and ten days lost to time, helpless, presumed dead. Because the first thing that came to his mind upon hearing the news was the overwhelming reality of the situation, flooring him all at once — the vertigo and the fear of the unknown, heavy on his shoulders, just from trying to _empathize_ with the girl.

And who knows how hard it's been for the girl in question, Jack had said, shuddering in Angela's comforting embrace while in her office.

He's fully expecting to come face to face with a unique case of PTSD, even though the daily reports detailing Lena Oxton's case in the past nine days have been describing her own progress, both physical and mental, telling of a relatively stable psyche. So it's understandable, Jack thinks, that he's thrown off guard by the sheer _cheerfulness_ irradiating from the woman currently dancing to ABBA's greatest hits in her containment chamber, her back to them, stuffing her face with one of the belatedly delivered crumpets.

The music hits its chorus, repeating something about chances, before it lowers in volume to make room for Winston's voice through the speakers. "Lena? You've got visitors."

"Visitors?" Lena echoes, words perky and inherently _fun._ She doesn't stop dancing; she just breaks her crumpet in half and chews, speaking with her mouth full as she turns. "Did Kruse return with my—"

Jack was also not expecting for her to choke on her snack as soon as her almond coloured eyes land on him and Gabriel.

She's doubled over, coughing, stumbling about her chamber as she tries to get the situation back under control. Before Jack even has the chance to ask if she's alright, Gabriel sighs and looks over at the blond, catching his eyes, a smirk on his lips that Jack returns on instinct.

Ain't that something, his eyes are saying.

The music has stopped. Lena's voice pops in again, with a croaky, gravelly apology leaving her lips first. She's facing both men now, half a crumpet in her left hand while her right flies up to perform a messy military salute. "Sir! Uh," her eyes leave Gabriel to rest on Jack. "Sirs! It's an honour to meet you in person...!"

"At ease, Oxton," Gabriel dismisses. She sets her hands behind her back and spreads her legs slightly, literally at ease. The Commander rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "We won't be here long. We just want to ask you a few questions about the Splitstream."

She blinks, nods slowly. "What about the reports made in the past nine days?" Her lips curl into what Jack can only describe as an impressively efficient pout, sniffing. "I thought I'd been thorough with my descriptions."

"There's just some things we prefer you answer in person, if you don't mind," Jack is saying.  

"Yes, Sir!" She salutes again, then relaxes. "Though I must warn you, if you'd like a more scientific approach to this, you should ask Winston to explain instead."

Jack smiles as brightly as he can, trying to shake the awkward air in the area into a friendlier warmth. "It won't be a problem. We want your opinions."

"First things first, Oxton," Gabriel says. "What happened after the main matrix's malfunction?"

In the blink of an eye, Lena shakes once with a barely restrained shudder. She laughs, soft yet thin, eyes darting everywhere until they land on the floor and stay there. She curls in on herself, taking her crumpet from behind her back to absently nibble on it, and Jack feels himself tense.

She swallows thickly, takes a deep breath. When her eyes come back up to meet Jack's, they're back to their friendly, confident hue. Lena's next grin is almost as bright as Reinhardt's, and for a second Jack has trouble connecting the previous Lena with this one.

"Winston explained a bit of this to me already," Lena begins. "He said, 'imagine you are in the London Underground, and you want to take the tube somewhere to a specific station.' So that's pretty much where the Splitstream left me; in a moving tube through time."

Lena's next words take a lullaby's tone to them, each note dropping a word. "Every station is a moment in time itself," she sings, slow, moving her right hand out from behind her back, her index finger like a composer's wand, "and each moment belongs to someone. I'm afraid my voyage was limited to my own life, Sirs. I didn't really see anything of use — just flashes of myself here and there."

"What _did_ you see?" Jack asks.

The pilot shrugs, goes back to rocking herself, humming the previous tune as she thinks.

"My childhood," she says. "My recruitment to the military, my training for Overwatch. A lot of it was just my past, but." Lena bites at her lower lip, looks off to a spot to her right, right hand holding onto her left arm's sleeve. "There were some things there that I didn't recognize. A crumbled building here, a flash of green there, gunfire somewhere in-between. Sensations like unbearable cold and overwhelming heat. Fractured emotions and pieces of thoughts, all at the same time, echoes of my own voice and others'.

"But it was all... scattered about," Lena says. She lets go of her sleeve and locks eyes with Jack, shrugs. "None of it stayed for long enough for me to make much sense of it. I kept jumping through time, it seems," she smiles. "Past, present, future. At least that's what they say."

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat. "So you saw the future, huh?"

"Yes, Sir!" Lena repeats. "Or at least glimpses of it. Nothing too useful, like I said. I couldn't make much sense of it with how little time the whole thing lasted for."

Her statement catches Jack off guard, knocks something out of balance in his head. "What do you mean?"

Lena takes another bite of her crumpet and waits until she's swallowed before explaining herself. "Apparently, I've been lost to time for almost three months, but to me it only felt like a few hours. I'm not sure how it works, exactly, but Winston called it time dilation, Sir."

Winston's already explained the most complicated parts of Lena's situation, part of how he caught Lena in this chamber, the technology behind her recovery and containment. And even with the current success, the gorilla is still working hard towards a new goal for Lena, already approved of; for her to leave this place, he's attempting to find a way for her to carry her own anchor to this point in space-time.

He's almost there, Jack knows.

Questioning goes normal for the next twenty six minutes. Jack and Gabriel take turns asking Oxton on her experience, on what she's seen, her position in Overwatch's flight program. She takes it well, stopping only twice to gather her bearings, then cheerfully answering every question thrown her way after finishing her crumpet and calling out for another later.

It takes until Jack's inner clock marks twenty seven minutes elapsed for a small pressure to settle on his body, rattle his bones, hasten his heartbeat just a bit; suddenly, Jack becomes very aware of a low humming in the room, of every inhale and exhale of his and of Gabriel's by his side. Something is messing with him, causing growing discomfort, leaving him hyper-aware of his immediate surroundings.

His eyes catch Gabriel discreetly steadying his own stance, and right away Jack knows he's not the only one experiencing this change.

Lena blows out some air, messing with some of her bangs that have drooped over her face. She seems unbothered by whatever it is that's settled over Jack and Gabriel, her hands resting on the glass of her containment chamber, humming for a second before she laughs awkwardly.

Her eyes spring back up to look between both men. "Excuse me... Sirs?" she asks after a short silence, a smile on her face, hopeful. "I wanted to ask, could it be possible for me to move on to become a field agent instead?"

Jack's eyebrows shoot up at that, but he remains silent as he watches her explain herself.

She gently kicks at the glass. "I just... I think I've had about enough of piloting for a while," she chuckles. "Winston, the sweetheart, he's already trying to get me back out there so that I won't have to stay here any longer. I've lost so much time already. I've got to get back in the action!"

"We thought you'd prefer to retire after all that," Jack says, stiffly. "Why go back to the fight?"

Lena sighs, takes her hands off the glass to hold herself instead "The war isn't over yet, Sir. I still have to play my part, do what's right." She shrugs, locking eyes with Gabriel — pleading to the Commander himself. "I mean, the world needs heroes, right?"

The crackling of the speakers comes between her words and any reply Jack knows Gabriel might've gotten in otherwise. "Commander Reyes? Morrison?" Winston's voice calls, nervous as always. "Ah— It's been twenty nine minutes. It'd be safer if you came back to the observation room now."

Gabriel grumbles something under his breath, claps his hands together as if he were a judge dismissing everyone. "Playtime's over," Gabriel says, nodding to Lena. "We'll be keeping the request in mind, Oxton. You be good meanwhile."

"Of course, Commander!" Lena salutes yet again. She then waves them goodbye as they walk over to the connecting room between Lena and the monitoring station, the grin on her face positive and bright, happy, as she calls out her last goodbye of "It has been a pleasure!"

Jack makes sure he gets a wave back before the door closes before him.

* * *

"If she's going to join us in the field, I want her put through the appropriate training. Under my supervision."

Gabriel yawns, hiding it into his hand. "You do realize that would mean you'd have to stay here in Gibraltar until her condition's deemed stable enough for her to come to Switzerland, right?" he asks, eyeing Jack in the dim light of the elevator ride back up the Watchpoint's upper levels. "Or anywhere else for that matter. _After_ Winston finishes building that... Accelerator thingy he wants to give her."

Jack hums, taps his foot — a conscious effort to repeat the same few notes Lena used to sing her London Underground metaphor. It makes him feel better. "I don't mind staying," he replies. "I can cover ground here, if they want. There were a few Omniums built here. Send me a small team and I can help."

 _"One_ Omnium, Jack," comes Gabriel's rebuttal. "Already destroyed when we built this place, too, so you'd pretty much be doing cleanup. And what do we tell Adawe?"

"Nothing," Jack snaps. He blinks at his own voice, licks his lips. "Sorry. Just— You're Strike Commander. Can't you just order me to stay or something? _You're_ the authority here."

At least Gabriel seems undisturbed by his outburst. "And you're still second in command," he reminds Jack, eyebrow raised. "You get a say in this. Quit fuckin' forgetting."

 _Huff._ "Then I'm ordering myself to stay. Case closed."

"Oh my god. Jack—"

"Case closed!" Jack throws his hands in the air for emphasis. He lowers them back down when the elevator opens with a quiet ding, and they walk out into the main hallway, the path to the main Watchpoint's exit already known to them.

"I'm staying," Jack mutters. "She's under my wing now."

Perhaps he's being ridiculous, stubbornly digging his heels on his choice to remain stationed here until Oxton is out of her containment, but. There's something about just up and leaving the pilot behind, something that puts goosebumps on his skin and freezes his bloodstream.

Jack's read the reports, the ten files sent to him and Gabriel day by day, about Lena Oxton and her rescue, condition, and containment. She seemed alright down there, happy, but sometimes she disappears for hours at a time, they say. She scares her caretakers each time, particularly Winston, even if Lena always comes back to the same chamber, attracted to it like lost needle to a magnet.

Somewhere at the back of Jack's mind, a voice convinces him that if he's here, if he keeps her in his sights, she won't disappear anymore. That she'll be free.

The two exit the Watchpoint's main building, enter a new area, continue off the path. They stop near a tall structure standing next to the cliff this base is built on. The powerful sound of the ocean consumes the moment, the waves below crashing against the vertical rock exposure, shaped into this by years of water erosion. It's getting dark already, with the sun descending over the horizon as if engulfed by the Mediterranean Sea.

Aside from the waves, a silence settles over Morrison and Reyes as they stand here, watching the waves, the receding sunlight. Comfortable and healthy, it feels to Jack as though both of them were savouring the moment.

Gabriel breaks it first, digging a sigh into their bubble and popping it gently. "If you wanna stay," he says, "then I won't stop you. Really, it's your choice. Just tell Adawe and stop being such a drama queen about it."

"I'm not a drama queen," Jack grumbles. "That's your job."

"Aren't you fuckin' funny," Gabriel retorts, a rumbling laugh mixing into his words. Jack turns to face him just as his Commander takes a quick look at his wristwatch, hums. "Shit— I should be heading back to write up a report on this," he huffs, then looks up at Jack. "You should come with, Golden Boy. Write up your petition to stay. Or, knowing you," Gabriel grins, "your demand."

Golden Boy. That's dangerously turning into nickname by now. "Will do, Boss," Jack says, pleased with the way Gabriel rolls his eyes at the last word. Then he turns back to the ocean, aware of Gabriel following his gaze out of his peripheral vision. "I just want to stay here for a bit longer, if that's okay. I'll catch up later."

Eyes on the water, the crashing waves. Mind on the subject at hand. He's decided he'll be here for Lena Oxton through every process at hand, step by mindful step. It's the least he can do, Jack thinks, his own apology for what Overwatch has put the twenty-six year old through. They've already lost her once, and Jack won't let it happen again.

He'll make sure of it.

There's a hand on his shoulder, suddenly, and he jumps. Gabriel is shooting him a stare that the blond's been on the receiving end of many times before, way back from their days in the SEP.

Recognizing it right away, Jack smiles, pats at Gabriel's hand.

The two maintain eye-contact for a few seconds longer, until Gabriel squeezes at his shoulder once, shakes him slightly, ends it. He lets Jack drop his hand back down first. He nods, silently turns around and walks away, leaving Jack alone with the receding sun, the conversation gone unsaid but leaving behind a message Jack repeats to cover his own worries.

_'It's gonna be okay.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SO WE HAVE MORE... BUILDUP. LOL. I swear this was gonna be longer and have More but then it got Long and I just. Yeah
> 
>  **Necessary Translations:**  
>  1\. _Pinche niño bonito pendejo_ \- Fucking dumbass pretty boy  
>  2\. _Sali_ \- Hello
> 
>  **And the Interesting Notes for this chapter:**  
>  1\. Not part of this chapter, mayb, I would like to direct you to [this aweosme post](http://laur-rants.tumblr.com/post/148663123877/tbh-how-do-you-think-does-reapers-regeneration) on how Reaper works because it's awesome and Educational  
> 2\. "What is Torbjörn doing with a tentacle," you ask. "He's building [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQ2dI_B_Ycg)," I reply  
> 3\. Spaghettification is a real thing! Put simply, if you go somewhere with a Very Strong, non-homogeneous gravitational field, you will be Stretched like a spaghetti. It's complicated. Here's [a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJ8jB0thVmc) on event horizons, and here's a [shorter video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVhLzhWp0-o) about spaghettification itself! I know it sounds silly, but it is fucking terrifying  
> 4\. [Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bg9MVRQYmBQ) [Dilation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cv3DXV0Iw2w), [the gravity at the throat of a wormhole, and using a wormhole for teleportation](http://discovermagazine.com/2008/mar/teleportation-very-possible-next-up-time-travel) are things I picked up from my own research on the subject of space-time. I am also basing myself off a few concepts from Halo that Trick explained to me, so there's a bit of artistic liberty here too. In addition, the title of this chapter is a reference to the [Butterfly Effect, or Chaos Theory,](http://www.stsci.edu/~lbradley/seminar/butterfly.html) which is a thing I hope I can explore further in the future!  
>  **EDIT:** I've realized that the concept I tried to explain about how Lena experienced her ordeal can be Explained [with this Vsauce video talking about time!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTOODPf-iuc) So, there you go!  
>  5\. [The Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72r32bceDzg) Lena danced to, because I can't not associate her with ABBA since Parental Figures  
> 6\. Lena's containment chamber was p much vaguely based off of the [Neutrino Detection Chamber](http://www.universetoday.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/neutrino.jpg) in Japan. Read up on the Neutrino Observatory, the Super-Kamiokande, [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Super-Kamiokande) if you'd like!
> 
> By the way, now that I'm in college again, updates will be Slower than how Slow they already are. I am sorry, but I will try to produce Content anyway!! I'll be Strong!!  
> Thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, hey!! If you feel like it, you can come watch me talk abt headcanons and livetweet my writing process on Twitter [@championrevali](https://twitter.com/championrevali)!!


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